


Kin

by 0athSworn



Series: Strangers and Heirs [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dragon Fight, Elven love, Eregion, F/M, Magic, Mirkwood, Rhovanion, Rivendell, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 91,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0athSworn/pseuds/0athSworn
Summary: Follow the epic story of Alinor and Aldariil, a prince and princess of the Royal House of Mirkwood, along with their family and companions, as they come to discover their twisted places in the center of a war that has been brewing for ages: where Elf fights Elf, the forces of Light must battle the Darkness, and the powers of Rivendell, Mirkwood, and the Istari face off against the will of Sauron, his Orcs, and the fallen Dark Elves.Return to Middle-Earth and enjoy the tale of the rarely seen times before the events of "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings".Follow this amazing tale, striving to honor the works of J.R.R. Tolkien as much as possible, and meet many of your favorites, such as Thranduil, Legolas, Elrond and his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, the Dragons, Maedhros, Sauron and the One Ring, and many others...I hope you will enjoy the tale, as many others have, and be sure to read in order:Strangers ~ Part IHeirs ~ Part IIKin ~ Part III





	1. Kin ~ Prologue

~ Many, many years in the past…  
The very first thing he remembered seeing… was Raebdon.   
It had always been Raebdon.   
The first living being that the newly hatched SnowDrake ever remembered.   
He had shared an unbreakable bond with the young, red-haired Man, even throughout his easy corruption.   
“You are named Khelekmin,” Raebdon had said, holding the tiny, glittering, opalescent SnowDrake in his trembling hand, moist from hatching, “And we are going to be brothers.”  
That had held true even as the two of them, as brothers in heart, began falling into darkness.  
Raebdon had always been there from the beginning.  
~  
When Vilna had entered the picture, she brought a light back to Khelekmin’s heart and mind that he had grown to forget.   
It had frightened him, at first, but it had grown on him, the taste of freedom.   
His bond with Raebdon, however, had never been undermined.   
He had loved Vilna with all of his heart, and she was precious to him.   
RoeHeart had been her name that he had gifted her, and it fit her, in his eyes.  
Raebdon had suspected of this bond, but Khelekmin never found it necessary to confirm, for his bond with the Man had always been strongest.  
~  
Aldaraen had been quite a different story…  
He had been dropped upon the young Elf’s chest when he was still very young, and…for a very long time, didn’t know what to do.  
The imprinting had been accidental, but…He had touched a heart with his magic that he could only describe in his young Drake mind as…kindred.  
The sensation didn’t last very long at all, for the Elf had slammed barriers into place against his probes, and he never again was able to touch the familiar heart.  
~  
After he had murdered Raebdon in revenge, as many whispered, for Vilna’s death, Khelekmin had found himself in a strange position of freedom…  
At least, it might’ve been freedom, if he hadn’t allowed his heart and mind to become so black that simple liberty and a life of peace and seclusion would forever be far out of the grasp of his pearly claws.   
He would answer to Sauron, as Raebdon had been raising him to, the Man and the SnowDrake corrupted together into a bleak, blind state of servitude.  
He would answer to Sauron, and he would always answer to Sauron.  
Raebdon would’ve been proud.


	2. Kin ~ Chapter 1

“My lord Thror…The Elvenking of Mirkwood, Thranduil Opherion, has sent a message demanding the status of the white jewels he entrusted to us,” Balin remained bowed before the silent Dwarven King, choosing his words carefully and slowly before he spoke, “There is no further need for them to be crafted into the jewelry requested, for the wives of the royal brothers have been slain. He wishes them returned.”  
A long silence stretched through the cavernous throne room until Balin felt the hairs on his arms prickling in apprehension.  
Thror began thrumming his fingers rhythmically on the throne, as if thinking.  
Balin looked to Thorin, the King’s grandson, but the young Dwarf only shrugged.   
Balin knew that he didn’t care for the jewels as his grandfather did, but to avoid war with the Elves, he hoped that the younger Dwarf might speak to Thror.  
“Many of us are growing fearful that perhaps the goodwill between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood will taint in the tension of the King’s withheld inheritance,” Balin continued, “Can we not return--?”  
“I will not relinquish those which are rightfully mine,” Thror interrupted, and Balin stared up at him in exasperation.  
“But Thror—“ he began, but the King interrupted him again, saying,  
“Balin, my patience with you runs short, my old friend. Depart from my face before I desire you absent from my Halls altogether.”  
Balin huffed in irritation to himself as he departed the throne room, feeling the unfortunate realization that he was growing accustomed to these curt dismissals, but he was pulled from his thoughts when Thorin grasped his arms to stop his walking, having followed him from his grandfather’s presence.  
“Balin, Thror will not relinquish those jewels, unless the King of Mirkwood demands them himself in personal audience. My grandfather grows sicker and sicker in greed with each passing day, and there is naught we can do to help him. I am afraid a Drake has set its dark magic upon this place. We are in danger. If we are attacked, we will need the aid of our Elvish neighbors…We cannot afford a breaking of our friendship,” Thorin said worriedly, and Balin nodded, agreeing.  
“Exactly,” he answered, “Young Thorin, just keep your grandfather’s questioning at bay, since your father is busy with other business of the Kingdom. I shall travel to Mirkwood and speak with the King. His advisor, Yaeran, is quite reasonable and I consider him a friend. I will council with Yaeran and the King’s younger brother Aldaraen and see if we can come to some sort of terms with Thranduil.”  
“I will speak to no one of this. You have my confidence,” Thorin smiled at the much elder Dwarf before finishing, “I believe this is best for our People.”  
“I, as well, laddie,” Balin nodded once, “I will depart this night for Mirkwood and return as swiftly as I may.”  
“Travel safely, my friend,” Thorin replied, and watched as Balin made his way down one of the long halls of Erebor to prepare for his journey to Mirkwood, blissfully unaware of the anger and darkness brooding within the Elven kingdom.   
~~~


	3. Kin ~ Chapter 2

Alinor’s chest felt as if it would burst as she raced through the snow-laden trees of the forests of the Trollshaws. She leapt down a series of icy boulders, her nimble footwork keeping her from slipping, and, once again, she thanked Eardaneth for his thorough training.   
She could hear her hunter land behind her with a gentle ‘thump’ in the snow behind her, and, with a small smile, she urged her legs to move more swiftly.   
Her heart had needed a bit of exercise, she could tell, but the going was difficult through the freshly fallen snow, and her breath billowed into lingering clouds in the wake of her sprinting.   
Through her incessant training with Eardaneth many years back, Alinor was quite well acquainted with the limits of her body, so when she spotted the fast-flowing Bruinen river, only frozen over on the edges of the bank, she knew immediately that she could clear the narrowed gorge with a strong leap, and, more than likely, her pursuer could not.  
She reached the end of the ground and landed flawlessly at the edge on the very tips of her soft boots, crouched slightly in preparation for her leap, but, mid her powerful spring, a hand grasped the belt of her tunic with a triumphant laugh, halting her leap and yanking her backwards.   
She couldn’t find her footing swift enough and yelped in fright when she tumbled over the side of the gorge, pulling her pursuer with her.  
Luckily, the bank below was piled with drifts of fresh snow, several yards deep, and Alinor fell many feet through the airy white layers until coming to a soft halt, surrounded by the beautiful snow.   
Elrohir landed over her like a cat, sparing her his full weight crashing on top of her, and immediately broke into laughing, managing,  
“I’m sorry, Ali’! I didn’t mean for us to fall, I really didn’t!”  
“You idiot, how are we going to get out?” Alinor giggled back, but she wrapped her arms about her husband’s warm neck and kissed him, finishing, “It’s quite alright, Melamin.”  
“It will be midday soon,” he answered her, kissing her affectionately between his words, “I suppose we’ll just have to wait until it thaws—“  
The words had barely left his mouth when a deafening roar drowned out all other sound momentarily.  
Elrohir lowered himself with a dismayed laugh when water immediately rushed on top of them as the snow melted incredibly quickly about them, lowering and dissipating until it was nearly their height.   
When the sound had stopped, Elrohir and Alinor both struggled to their feet to see Menelaudh standing delicately on the bank, tail raised proudly above the cold snow and ice.  
“Good thing you have me!” she chortled, and stretched a wing forward until both Elves could clamber up the scaly black annex to settle on her back.   
The scales along her throat and chest were still burning a beautiful amber color from her fire as the FireDrake began beating the air, rising into the cold sky.  
“Do you think we ought to make our way home? Adar will need us for the council he plans to hold,” Elrohir spoke into Alinor’s ear above the great flapping of the dragon, wrapping his arms about his wife before him to keep her warm, “I don’t want to be late. He has been on edge recently.”  
“Justly so,” Alinor shrugged, “He didn’t wish for us to be wed in this time of war, not to mention matters might be quite darker than we all first suspected, seeing as…as…the Dark Lord is involved…”  
Her words grew softer as she mentioned Sauron, and Elrohir had to struggle to hear her, but he understood why and said nothing, only wrapping his arms tighter about her, protectively, as Menelaudh turned towards Rivendell.  
~~~  
“How is Endel’s pregnancy progressing? She is still well, no?” Eardaneth watched his tall son mill about his guest-room, accounting for weapons and various items he had brought with them from Eregion.  
“She is fine. Healthy enough to demand me to bring her, specifically, red grapes at nearly midnight last night,” Earathran laughed, turning his brilliant sapphire eyes to meet his father’s identical pair, “Was Mama so finicky when she carried…Darnuigar and I?”  
At the mention of his slain twin brother, Eardaneth saw the gleam die in his son’s gaze, and he felt his throat grow tight, so that he could not answer.   
When the awkward quiet had progressed long enough, Earathran sat heavily on the bed and shook his head, pushing auburn hair behind his pointed ear as he muttered, “I do not believe Darnuigar took his own life. Those of the Eldar do not bring about their own death.”  
“He….did, my son,” Eardaneth replied softly, his stomach beginning to feel sick as he thought of his last moments with his own father, Maedhros the Tall, before he cast himself within the fiery chasm with the Silmaril.  
“The Firstborn do not bring about their own demise!” Earathran’s voice raised slightly in volume as he grew angry at his twin’s death, but Eardaneth answered calmly  
“There was one, JayGaze, that you know of quite well.”  
“Darnuigar is not Maedhros the Tall, Son of Feanor!” Earathran exclaimed angrily and Eardaneth could feel his ears burning.  
He let the quiet after Earathran’s furiously cried words stretch until he was certain his son had calmed himself once more. He swallowed before he spoke, saying,  
“Earathran…There is…There is something I have long delayed in telling you. It was wrong of me to withhold such information, but I did not wish for your friends, peers, or anyone, for that matter, to think or treat you differently for it.”  
Earathran looked up abruptly in surprise, lowering his hands from his face into his lap, expression worried.  
He could easily see the discomfort and upset in his father’s already weary face, and he moved closer to him, asking, “Ada, what is the matter? I’m sure it cannot be so horrible—“  
His words were stopped by a soft knock on their chamber door, and, upon Eardaneth’s bidding, Aldariil entered with a calm smile.  
It never ceased to surprise Eardaneth at how much the youngest child of Aldaraen had grown. His jaw was well-defined in adulthood and his eyes held a wise glint that Elves far more his senior might have still lacked.   
The young Elf had been through, and seen, much. Perhaps some things should best have been left unseen.  
“My lord Eardaneth, Earathran,” he greeted them first.  
He had grown very quiet in his maturity, spending the majority of his time with the Drake, Menelaudh, Eardaneth had noticed.  
The Prince continued, “The time has arrived to attend Lord Elrond’s council concerning our course of action against our enemy. I was advised to fetch you, as your wisdom in these matters, Captain SeaGaze, is most desired.”  
Eardaneth smiled at him and nodded, standing with his own son.  
Aldariil was quite tall, but the red-haired father and son were the tallest of all Elves they had met thus far, save for the Avari.  
Earathran followed his father from the chamber, smiling a welcome at Aldariil, but he couldn’t help feeling small butterflies dancing about in his stomach in trepidation of the swiftly spoken words his father had delivered.  
He had seemed truly, deeply concerned of whatever it was that he had not discussed with his children, and Earathran was anxious to hear what his brother, Darnuigar, never would.  
~~~


	4. Kin ~ Chapter 3

Elrond viewed the individuals gathered at his table carefully, making sure the most important of the senior members were present.   
His sons Elladan and Elrohir were present, and Elrohir’s young new wife, Alinor, her younger brother, Aldariil, and her closest companion, Haldir. Aldaraen, Glorfindel, Gandalf, Raebidus, Saruman and Radagast were there, as well.   
Earathran sat with his father and uncle, Eardaneth and Yaeran, the family remaining quiet and calm while the others continued murmured conversations. Their heritage was quite obvious within their eyes, a certain agedness gleaming within which was not seen in many of the Eldar anymore.   
Before he drew their attention, Elrond noted that Saruman seemed to have grown quite distant from, particularly, Gandalf, and he alone knew why.   
He had received a gift to protect beyond measure and Saruman had grown jealous of the object and obvious ignoring its giver had played towards him.  
It was a stinging blow, and Elrond wondered if the others had noticed yet or if they were still lost in the blissfully blinding bonds of their friendship.  
~~~  
“Before they can join forces and grow stronger in number, we will attack the Avari and Orc armies separately and crush them,” Glorfindel was explaining, “We shall worry about Angmar in later times. Our focus, right now, should be to not let these armies reach the fortresses of Angmar and to destroy them while they are weakened in separation. They will only foster and be taught in witchcraft beneath Sauron’s thumb, as has always been the way of the past.”  
“Our armies should be strong enough for such an assault with the addition of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, who are always prepared for battle, and the Avari of Enedwaith,” Eardaneth nodded his head assuredly, “Yaeran and I will return to Thranduil and speak to him of the truth of matters. Perhaps the hatred and grief of his heart has somewhat abated. An alliance between Mirkwood and the High-Elves of the west is easy enough…Telling him of the Avari will be a task. He must be made to understand that they are untainted by witchcraft.”  
“I believe we can do it,” Yaeran said quietly, and Glorfindel looked at him seriously, asking,  
“And what if you cannot?”  
“Then, as Itryd suggested, perhaps those of sounder minds wouldst follow their Captain,” Yaeran offered a small smile to the elder Elf before gazing briefly at his tall brother, whose eyes remained downcast.   
“Then you will travel to Mirkwood in caution and see what help you might muster. Do not forget, Eardaneth, you were under orders from the King to bring back the heads of Raebidus and Saruman,” Elrond said, but Eardaneth shrugged smoothly, answering,  
“Thranduil will not kill me, nor Yaeran. He will listen, or he will not, but he will not kill those who have mentored him as fathers from his babyhood.”  
“Use caution,” Glorfindel stated, nodding once before continuing, “Concerning the Avari of Enedwaith, I believe that young Earathran and Endel should be handed that task. Endel is one of their people, and they both have been acquainted with the Avari’s appointed chief. I believe it most logical and best for them to continue their efforts, and return to the Avari with word of our acceptance of their request for alliance.”  
“We will not ride in such haste, however, since Endel is with child—“ Earathran began, but his wife elbowed him gently, protesting,  
“I can ride. It has not been long since my conception, and my strength and versatility are perfectly well. We will not harm the child.”  
“With all due caution, then, Earathran and Endel will alert the Avari, and Yaeran and Eardaneth with alert the Silvan. We will discuss a place as to where we will converge at a later time,” Elrond said in relief, glad their plan of action still seemed to be simple enough, “You shall depart within two sunrises.”  
Eardaneth was surprised at how quickly his son had been handed the duty of delivering the alliance to the Avari. He had rather hoped that Earathran could have rode with he and Yaeran to Mirkwood, a perfect opportunity to discuss his descent from Feanor, news, he was sure, that would devastate the young Elf.   
He opened his mouth to say something to his remaining child, but Earathran had already stood and walked to the companions of his youth, Haldir and Alinor, and was talking with them happily, arms crossed, standing tall, looking very much like his grandfather in every way.   
He would tell him before two sunrises had passed, he knew that much, but the prospect of delivering the news did not bring a good feeling with it at all. He could only pray to the Valar that his son would take it well.


	5. Kin ~ Chapter 4

Aldariil’s eyes were closed, cold wind buffeting his chestnut hair, arms outstretched.   
He remained this way for several seconds, enjoying the sense of freedom upon Menelaudh’s back as they soared as one, several hundred miles above Middle-Earth.   
He sighed and leaned forward to hug the massive creature about the neck, smiling against her warm black scales as he felt the familiar rumbling in her throat, akin to the purring of cat, starting up deep in her throat.   
Since Alinor’s marriage, she had, of course, been spending the majority of her time with her new husband, the pair being inseparable, and Aldariil found himself backing away from his elder sister and giving her space. He missed her, but he knew and acknowledged that she was a grown She-Elf now, her love dedicated to another. He noticed that all of the time he now spent with Menelaudh, whom he felt something akin to a brotherly affection for, had strengthened the bond between Elf and Drake.   
He felt a deep connection with her, through his heart and their joined magics.   
Menelaudh, nearly fully grown, angled steeply to begin a slight descent, dipped dangerously on her side, but Aldariil remained steadfastly upon her back, expertly.   
Aldariil could see by the alert posture of her head and flexible scales that she had seen something of interest, and he shouted to her above the wind,  
“Mani uma lle elea, Mellonamin? What do you see?”   
Menelaudh turned her great head slightly to glance at him with an icy blue eye. She glided for a moment and pointed almost comically with a wing towards the ground.  
Aldariil leaned over her back, gazing intently towards the direction she had indicated, and his sharp, Elven gaze almost immediately spotted what his dragon companion had sighted.  
It was a strange sight.   
What appeared to be a woman was fleeing swiftly across an open pasture, bow in hand, followed closely by a large Weaver.   
Aldariil immediately recognized the creature, but it was silvery and appeared to be quite soft. It also didn’t seem to be a threat to the woman. It was actually following her, and when she tripped, it nudged her urgently back to her feet.   
Her pursuers finally broke from the trees bordering the field, a pack of Wargs numbering 5 or 6, ears laid back against their skulls, fangs bared.   
Menelaudh began to circle lower to offer their aid, Aldariil tapping his heels against her gleaming black sides in agreement, drawing his sword, although he knew it would probably not be needed.  
To his surprise, on the opposite end of the clearing, running towards the fleeing woman and Weaver, two large, black Wargs erupted from the bordering forest, howling in fury.  
Muscles rippled under their sleek fur, the most beautiful fur for Wargs that Aldariil had ever seen, as they ran.   
The woman never veered her course, continuing towards the black Wargs.   
The pack overtook her swiftly, and, just as the leader was opening its jaws to snap about her body, the woman threw herself to the ground, sliding along the dewy grass as the two black Wargs leapt over her form, catching the pack leader full in the chest.   
Between the two of them, the pack leader did not last long, ending with a shrill whimper, and the two Warg brothers circled on the remainder of the pack.  
The woman stood and prepared to nock an arrow to her bow when Menelaudh’s shadow passed over her, and she looked up.   
The expression of horror and disbelief that played across her features gave Aldariil a sense of pride, once again, that he was this FireDrake’s companion, friend, and “small-brother”.   
Menelaudh landed amongst the Wargs and heard a shrill whistle, which promptly called the two black Wargs away from the fight, and Menelaudh scorched the remainder of the animals before they could scatter, crushing those that attempted to flee between her legs beneath her claws.  
Aldariil was more than surprised when Menelaudh turned, tail and wings raised slightly in greeting, and trumpeted, “I have found you!”  
The woman, who, to Aldariil’s furthered surprise, was a She-Elf bearing the uniform of Mirkwood, lowered her bow and an expression of recognition lit upon her face.  
“You are the Drake of Raebidus, no?” she asked, and Menelaudh began,   
“Oh, well, I am no one’s Drake, but I do consider myself as sister to—“  
She fell quiet when Aldariil slid from her back and landed lightly in the grass. He no longer needed time to find his land-feet again, and he strode forward cautiously to stand under Menelaudh’s chin, several yards above him. He could easily fit between her front legs.  
“You are from Mirkwood?” he asked cautiously, and she nodded, at apparent ease, replying curiously,  
“Yes. I am named Lynndor. I do not dwell within the Palace, but live within the Forest with my pets, answering the call to battle when I am needed. I aided Raebidus and Saruman, whom I assume you are familiar with…since you are familiar with this Drake.”  
“Oh! You must be Lynndor! They made mention of you! They said you had lost your companions and I am glad to see you have reclaimed them!” Aldariil relaxed, releasing the hilt of his sword, and approached her, examining her closely, “You are not injured.”  
“I was traveling towards Rivendell. I only found the brothers, Bishuk and Burz, yesterday,” Lynndor wrapped an arm about each Warg’s neck as she spoke, and their tongues lolled lazily.  
Aldariil had just reached out a hand to poke the flawless fuzz of the Weaver, who was staring at him in an unsettling fashion and chittering to itself, when Lynndor exclaimed,  
“By the Valar, you bear my Lord Aldaraen’s House upon your chest and wear his circlet upon your brow. You must be young Aldariil….not so young anymore, my lord!” She immediately lowered herself to a knee in embarrassment, and Aldariil said swiftly,  
“No, it is quite alright. Do not kneel.” He was flushed, and rubbed his arms, “I am Aldariil DragonKin, Son of Aldaraen, yes. I am a friend and not a Prince here, however.”  
“A befitting name,” Lynndor smiled as she rose, nodding slightly nervously at Menelaudh, who now seemed to be in a staring competition with the Weaver, who had averted its attention from the Elf to the massive Drake.  
“Your hair remains short, out of custom,” Lynndor observed then, indicating Aldariil’s hair, which he had not allowed to lengthen past his shoulders, but he kept tied neatly behind his head.  
“It gets in the way of the wind,” he answered easily, then finished with a grin, “I would enjoy to hear your side of the tales of Raebidus and Saruman, my good friends. Menelaudh and I are in no great rush to return to Rivendell. We will travel at your pace, and, also, provide protection from more unwanted visitors. There are worse than Wargs in these lands.”  
Menelaudh snorted in affirmation, black smoke curling from her nostrils, and Lynndor only smiled nervously.  
~~~  
~ The next night…  
“…And ever since I saw those Drake eggs…” Aldariil was saying quietly, narrating the tale of he and Menelaudh’s escapade into Angmar’s dragon dungeon, “Ever since I saw those helpless eggs…I have wanted to rescue them, Lynndor. Rescue them before they became tainted by witchcraft and enslaved. Drakes are not all evil. There is courage and goodness within them, and it only need be fostered. It is all in their raising, I truly believe that.”  
“As with all things,” Lynndor said softly, glancing at her own companions.   
Bishuk, Burz, and Scuttle were all sleeping at the feet of one of Arda’s greatest predators, her soft breaths indicating her sleep.  
“I believe, at long last, Lynndor, that I have a friend in you that understands what I am saying of Drakes,” Aldariil broke the extended silence, staring into the flames of their fire, “It gives me happiness in my heart to know that not all of my People see naught but evil in Menelaudh.”  
“My thoughts on the creatures’ behavior was quite revolutionary, yes,” the elder She-Elf chuckled.   
Another silence fell over them and Aldariil’s eyelids began to feet heavy, his head nodding, and Lynndor watched fondly.   
“I am sorry, young one…about your mother,” she said, at last, and Aldariil looked up at her with sad blue eyes, slightly surprised. Since he remained quiet, Lynndor pressed her palm to her chest before extending it towards him, finishing, “She raised a noble son. The purity in your heart is clear in every work you speak.”  
“I wish to honor her in all that I do,” Aldariil almost whispered, fighting the urge to shed tears, and he swallowed hard, “I miss her terribly, as does Alinor. I loved my mother.”  
“Then let us rescue the Drake eggs in her honor, hm?” Lynndor said, a hint of her spunk entering her voice once more, “Let us retrieve the Hatchlings from Sauron’s clutches…I am sure that Lady Faerlin would agree with such—“  
“Actually, she would have my head before allowing me to fly into Angmar,” Aldariil smiled, but the thought intrigued him, “Allow us to sleep on such a question, Lady Lynndor. I am sure my father would have nothing to do with it.”  
“Sleep on it,” Lynndor winked at him.  
Then, almost as quickly as she had offered the idea, she lay beside the fire and fell asleep.  
~~~  
~ A few days later…  
Aldariil watched in no small amount of delight as Raebidus rushed forward to grasp Lynndor in a tight hug.  
Bishuk, Burz, and Scuttle had all been allotted stables upon oath from their master that they would cause no harm.  
Lynndor had delivered a hushed, stern command, and the Wargs and Weaver had obediently skulked towards their lodging, tails and spinner drooping.  
Lynndor also greeted Saruman in like manner, but the young Istari seemed noticeably subdued. She embraced him anyway, complimenting him on his nearly completed beard.  
Aldaraen was more than curious to meet the new-comer from Mirkwood, and Aldariil happily evaded his father as much as he could.  
It was not that he felt guilty of his upcoming enterprise to Angmar, but he needed as much time to himself as he could obtain.  
Time enough to formulate a successful infiltration that concluded with no lives lost.


	6. Kin ~ Chapter 5

Maellang watched in seething anger as Garrik strode towards him through the Avari army. Each Elf that he passed either gave a small nod of respect or bowed slightly, quickly.   
The great, dark and embraced power that emanated from the young, yet tall Avari was felt by every soldier in the ranks.  
Maellang still couldn’t quite believe how quickly the Avari people had comprised Garrik as their King, ousting Maellang with not a second thought.  
Garran, his father, had been loved and trusted, and even through witchcraft, it seemed, the Avari remembered that.  
The tall Avari Elves had begun to pale and obtain strange distortions of the skin, growing far more muscled and gruff than any of the Eldar before them.   
It was a strange change, and Maellang knew it was from the witchcraft.  
The Avari were quickly becoming as the Orc through their corruption, although their kind seemed to be taller, straighter, stronger, much more intelligent…   
Maellang was interrupted from his thoughts when Garrik finally reached him, addressing him without a moment’s pause,  
“Maellang, I would like to converse with Lord Sauron.”  
Maellang blinked in surprise before snapping, “Then I suggest you find someone gifted in magic who is worthy of being such a vessel…”  
He faded away when Garrik smiled thinly at him, then hissed,  
“You would not dare. I am the necromancer, calling forth our Lord Sauron into the bodies of weaker subjects. If their mind is broken and their body laid to waste from their futility, then—“  
Garrik interrupted him once more, replying evenly, unmoved, “We are entering war, Master Maellang. I…and our Lord Sauron…cannot afford to continue to lose Elves. You will not be laid to waste. That is why you took my father’s place. You are strong in mind and the magics involved. If you wish to serve your People, as I do, then you will do as I please.”  
“I am the necromancer,” Maellang repeated, his hands trembling from his fury, “You impotent young rat, you will be the vessel of our Lord Sauron, not I!”   
“If you wish to keep your life, you will do as I please,” Garrik rephrased his previous statement, fingering the hilt of his sword, and Maellang paused, calming his mind long enough to run his risks.   
“I desire to speak to our Lord Sauron, I feel that he wishes to communicate with me. Come, Maellang,” Garrik motioned with his hand and began to stride away, sword patting gently against his thigh.   
He didn’t even pause, nor look back, to see if Maellang was following him.  
With a humiliated growl, Maellang stood, slinking away after the handsome Avari.  
~  
“Sina edhel's ar' ikotane tanya amin might quena a' lle, amin heru,” Garrik spoke the last intonation strongly, watching Maellang’s expression carefully.  
It was the first time that Garrik had attempted summoning the Dark Lord via a foreign vessel, and he was nervous, anxious to see his accomplishment.  
Maellang’s pupils became dilated to the point that there was nearly no white to be seen, and his face grew expressionless.   
Garrik knew that when Sauron spoke, it would sound as Maellang with only a slight difference, and that he spoke in 2nd person, referring to himself as ‘he’.  
Maellang’s cold, lifeless eyes slowly focused on him, and Garrik felt chills goose his arms, his heart nearly exploding from his chest, when the overcome Elf spoke, saying slowly,  
“He has arrived.”  
It took Garrik a moment to remember that Sauron spoke in 2nd person, literally through the vessel which he entered unto, and he lowered himself almost to the ground, answering,  
“My Lord Sauron, Greatest of the Maiar, Seeker of Eternal Revenge, helping the people beset by discrimination rise into power…I felt that you desired to speak with me…I have summoned you through a reliable vessel.”  
“He will not remain within me. He must hold his complete thoughts elsewhere,” Maellang, Sauron, answered in satisfaction, slowly, each word pronounced painfully clearly, “You have done well, Lord Garrik Garrion.”  
The use of his proper title of King touched Garrik with a sense of gratitude.  
Sauron recognized his place?  
“He wishes for the Avari and Orc armies to join together and march in force to Angmar…” Maellang, Sauron, in 2nd person, explained. There was a long pause, then Maellang sighed and continued in a far angrier, lower tone, “He wishes for the armies to reach Angmar in all due haste, as it has come to his knowledge that our enemies are in possession of a nearly grown FireDrake…a beast that would cause immensely deadly blows to our forces, even before witchcraft downed it…”  
In the pause that followed the confusing statement concerning the FireDrake, a memory began to itch at the back of Garrik’s darkened, corrupted mind.  
The enemy was in possession of a nearly grown FireDrake…  
“How did you come by that knowledge…?” he asked instead, pushing his confusion away, “Why would our enemies have a FireDrake? The Eldar have long been separated in mind and heart from the beasts…”  
Again, the memory began to struggle forward in his mind, but Maellang answered,  
“Our Lord Sauron believed so, as well, young King Garrik…But the Elfenmaid Alinor Aldarion had been captured and brought within Angmar to serve him…and her recapture and subsequent escape from the fortress had proved far too simple, due to the aid of a FireDrake, which seemed to be under her influence…The same FireDrake helped in the entire, complete crushing of the Brigand forces…Thousands of Men…destroyed…”  
Maellang, Sauron, did not seem too sure of his words, as if he did not know entirely himself.  
“Such an embarrassment in lack of power and control shall never again happen…” Maellang seemed to finish.  
Garrik had frozen upon the mention of the name Alinor Aldarion, and he was abruptly horrified when his heart felt as if it throbbed within his chest, awakening from a cold death.  
Flashes of memory surged forward between unheard words of Maellang-   
Building extensions to a small house near Gwemyr, a golden-haired Elf…Aldaraen… his arm in a sling, smiling up at him fondly from his perch on the nearly finished roof.  
Hoisting young Aldariil onto his shoulders so that the growing Elf could clamber onto the low branches of an apple tree and fetch the fruit.  
Hanging upside down, ankle caught in a rope, staring up at the belly of…a very young Menelaudh…as she flapped above him, lowering her head to stare at him in surprise.  
His brother, a red-haired Man, Raebidus, attacking him in playful stealth, wrestling him, an Elf, to the ground.   
Faerlin holding his face tenderly, green eyes smiling warmly at him before kissing his forehead and pushing a hot cup of tea into his cold hands.  
Alinor’s beautifully, achingly familiar face grinning at him, before he pulled her forward atop their steeds and kissed her soft lips…  
“Garrik!”  
His shouted name brought him crashing back into darkness, staring at nothing but Maellang, who was gaping at him with wide, demystified eyes.  
“You look…just as Garran once did…Who are you loyal to?”   
Maellang was obviously released by Sauron, his own spirit returned to his body.  
Whatever had caused this strange warm feeling in Garrik’s heart was forgotten, and no matter how hard Garrik tried to recall it, it would not come forth.   
He remembered his parents…how the Wood-Elves had murdered them…not allowed them to live peaceably…Sauron was helping them…would help them rise to power and safety and a life of happiness…He would avenge his family and those that had also suffered the atrocities…  
“I am loyal to the Dark Lord, of course,” he answered in something akin to bewilderment, then hardened once more and asked, “What of you, Maellang? Who are you loyal to?”  
“First and foremost…our Lord Sauron,” Maellang answered, although there was a touch of sarcasm in his tone that Garrik did not like.  
The warmth in his heart disappeared.  
Maellang stood and walked unsteadily towards the river they were camped beside, dusting his hands on his black tunic.  
Garrik didn’t trust the elder Avari. Not in the slightest.  
He wondered if Sauron did, as well.   
If he asked Sauron next time he used Maellang as a vessel…would Maellang remember?   
Garrik stowed the question in the back of his mind and rose, walking idly among the Avari and enjoying being amongst the presence of those who shared his appearance.  
~~~


	7. Kin ~ Chapter 6

Aldariil watched his sister walk ahead of him towards the tree he had indicated, isolated in the wilds of the Trollshaws.  
Ardir and Forwen pawed at the ground several meters behind them, grazing quietly.  
“What do you wish to speak to me of?” Alinor asked him with a small smile, sitting herself in the soft grass gracefully.  
Aldariil was quiet for a moment after he had seated himself next to her, gazing fondly at his elder sister’s familiar face. She tilted her head curiously.  
Not for the first time, he wondered at how swiftly she had matured from a young maiden into a grown and wed She-Elf.  
He glanced at the golden ring about her finger and knew in his heart that there had been none better for his spirited sister than Elrohir, Son of Elrond.  
“Ali’,’ he began at last, looking back into her emerald gaze, “I needed to speak to you in private…in case I…do not return.”  
Alinor’s face swiftly fell into a horrified stare, but before she could cry out in protest, he interrupted her, continuing,  
“I have every intention of returning, seler, and I will not be deterred from my decision. I hope you will not speak of this to Ada before I have departed.”  
“But what are you doing, Aldariil?” she asked worriedly, and he was shocked to see terrified tears forming in her eyes already, and he knew he had to explain himself quickly.  
“Menelaudh, Lynndor and I wish to rescue the Drake eggs that I saw within Angmar. It is not right to leave them to the Necromancer’s whims and I will not see more Drakes corrupted to evil,” he said, “I feel it strongly in my heart that the Valar have led me to this decision…as you had said in your youth of Menelaudh. You just know when the Valar have guided you to some decision…You understand this, do you not? Of all, I knew you would understand, Ali’.”  
“A noble cause, Aldariil, and I wish I could aid you, for my heart misses adventure, but...” Alinor’s voice abruptly cracked into a terrified whisper, and she finished, “You would go back to that place?”  
“Alinor, ‘tis why I did not ask you to accompany. I wanted you to know where we were and that we would be back before you needed Menelaudh’s strength—“  
“I have nightmares of that place,” Alinor interrupted, her eyes glazing, and Aldariil suddenly wished he had never mentioned Angmar. Tears began rolling down her cheeks and his heart twisted as he remembered her lying motionlessly in bed after her rescue. “Nightmares of that hideous, evil Maia sneak into my dreams and my waking thoughts, Aldariil. Do not go where he can claim you. He will trick your mind and—“  
“He will not capture me, nor will I ever let him lay a finger on you again,” Aldariil said, and he gathered her in his arms, noticing, for the first time, how much smaller she was compared to him, “What happened to you within those walls is horrendous. There will be a way to defeat him so that the reaches of his witchcraft can no longer affect you.”  
Alinor removed herself from his protective embrace, her gaze remaining downcast as she wiped at her cheeks with her arms.  
“There is nothing to be ashamed for, amin seler’,” he smiled gently, “Menelaudh and I merely wish to rescue the Hatchlings before it is too late. Lynndor will aid us. We will be careful, I promise.”  
“But the forces of Rivendell ride forward north towards the upper Misty Mountains. We will fight the Avari in the north before heading south to confront the Orcs…unless their forces have already joined,” Alinor said steadily, regaining her composure, “Aldariil, we need your sword, and Menelaudh’s fire, during these confrontations. It will be critical in our—“  
“We will fly and retrieve the eggs before we are even missed. We will catch the High-Elf army before you have reached the Avari. We will be gone naught but a day. It will take a month, at least, for the army to even reach as far as Dunland, correct?” Aldariil pressed, then took a breath and reiterated, “Alinor. I would not have told you if I had not felt guilty in keeping this venture a secret from my best friend and greatest role-model. I knew you would believe in me.”  
“I do believe in you, Aldariil,” Alinor smiled gently at him now, “I just love you too much to not worry and protest even a little bit.”  
“We will not come to harm. Menelaudh and I are an unstoppable team. We will rescue the Hatchlings, and then we will meet the forces of the Enemy at your side,” Aldariil promised, “Do not tell Ada until we have flown. I will feel even worse, but he cannot protest that which he does not know.”  
“I care for the Hatchlings, as well, Aldariil, but I do believe that you have a bond with the great Drakes gifted from Valar, my DragonKin,” Alinor said, then looked up when her friend’s voice, Haldir’s, drifted along the wind, calling her name, “Haldir searches for me. I promised him a spar,” she said, then hugged her younger brother once more before standing, finishing, “Do as you must, Aldariil, but please…be careful. I love you. Amin mela lle.”  
“Amin mela lle,” he responded, and kissed his sister’s cheek.  
He watched her trot towards Forwen, whistling for the large black mare. She leapt onto her steed’s back and waved her farewell before disappearing in a flurry of leaves, formfitting tunic flapping in the wind.  
~~~  
~ An hour later…  
“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel wish for me to return with them,” Haldir said when he and Alinor had twisted their swords into a lock. It was a gift the two friends possessed, having been trained together since Elflinghood, to communicate calm conversations with one another during a fierce spar, “They want me to go home.”  
“When did they arrive?” Alinor asked, throwing Haldir back after kicking him in the chest with her foot. Sweat dripped from her nose.  
Haldir wiped his forehead, swinging his sword in a few circles as he answered, “I believe they arrived sometime during which we were at…at Angmar. A host of Avari passed through Lorien and they wished for me to come home, to be safe. They are my adoptive parents, Alinor. I do not wish to forsake them—“  
“You are not forsaking them. You are fighting to protect Arda from a greater evil,” Alinor shook her head at his advance, sheathing her sword and climbing atop the fence to sit heavily, “Tell them your wish to battle Sauron’s forces unless…unless you wish to return home…” Alinor looked into Haldir’s icy blue eyes when he sat next to her, but he only shook his head in disgust.  
“I want to fight, Alinor, but will it be improper to send them home?” he asked.  
“That is for you to discuss with them, Mellonamin,” Alinor answered, and she patted her friend’s hand, “When we march forth, the armies of the Trollshaws, we are hoping to meet with the untainted Avari and the armies of Mirkwood on the morning of the next month.”  
“I have quite an intriguing discussion to hold with the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, then,” Haldir sighed, and rolled his eyes, then looked at Alinor and asked, “Are we finished sparring?”  
“Just taking a breather. Never,” Alinor laughed, and threw her friend head over heels from the fence, leaping after him with brandished sword.  
In the months to come, the two young Elves had no way of knowing the importance of their training and play-fights.  
But, for the time being, they were content to spar one another in the cool afternoon light, the sun setting on a peaceful evening at the Last Homely House.  
~~~


	8. Kin ~ Chapter 7

A couple of young Rivendell stable-hands were strapping down supplies on the horse allotted to Earathran and his wife, Endel, who were to go to the Avari and deliver the good news of an accepted alliance.  
They were to leave at the same time as Yaeran and Eardaneth, the family traveling together until the need to split, the elder continuing to Mirkwood, and the younger couple to Enedwaith.  
Eardaneth glanced at his own steed, prepared and waiting for him.  
Yaeran, his elder brother, was already mounted and gazing intently at the map that Ardryll had created, showing the general positions of the Enemy’s fled forces.   
The map which Raebidus and Saruman had drawn would be returned to Thranduil, Eardaneth completing half of his original bounty. Hopefully, the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm would join forces and help them fight first the Avari, and then the Orc, forgiving his grievances against Raebidus and Saruman and understanding their plight.   
According to the map, the Brigands had been further east from Angmar than the Avari.   
Perhaps the Brigands, who had already been crushed on the march to Angmar, had been called to that dark land before the Avari, who were still waiting to be joined by their leaders, who had remained in Mirkwood. The same leaders which had failed to orchestrate the plan to murder Thranduil and his brother, succeeding in only murdering their wives.   
Unless that was their plan, to weaken Thranduil and Aldaraen in spirit and dealing a catastrophic blow to the Silvan people, in general.  
Eardaneth shut the thoughts from his mind. What did they matter now anyway?   
Faerlin and Wharyn were dead. Aldaraen was devastated but fighting on, and Thranduil seemed to have enfolded himself in cold wings of indifference and hate.  
They were not the young Princes that Eardaneth had helped raise.  
Earathran, his son, finally emerged from the Imladris main-court and approached his horse, Endel following.   
Her husband lifted her onto the steed, and Eardaneth couldn’t help a smile when he noticed the small bump of her belly.  
Thus, through great odds, the seed of Feanor continued, defying the curses of the ages.  
The thought abruptly reminded him that it was time Earathran knew of his heritage.  
With a general sense of dread, he approached his son, noticing how tall he was in contrast to the High-Elves securing his mount.   
The resemblance to Maedhros the Tall was uncanny, and Eardaneth felt a touch of pride.  
“Earathran, my son,” he said quietly, addressing him after Endel had been seated comfortably, “Earathran, whilst we ride east together, I…I wish to speak to you of…of your grandfather. He whom you never knew. I owe it to you, since Darnuigar has passed from this land without the knowledge.”  
“You said that my grandfather was a great warrior who was slain in the old wars,” Earathran said in confusion, “There is naught you must explain—“  
“Yes there is, my son,” Eardaneth interrupted him with a wry smile, “Have you not wondered why you stand so tall above the other Elves, why your mother departed for the Grey Havens when I lost my arm and war broke out, why your eyes sparkle as the stars above, why your hair holds a redness like none other…”  
Earathran was looking at him in concern, then answered, “I have, but…I have lived without the knowledge for well over 100 years, Ada. It is not important to me now—“  
“Well, it is to me,” Eardaneth clapped his son’s shoulder, “And you shall shortly come to understand why.”  
“I guess your grandfather was a criminal,” Endel giggled, resting her chin on her husband’s shoulder when he had mounted before her, then added reassuringly, “Do not worry, Melamin. Eardaneth is chief advisor the past two generations of Elvenkings. It cannot be awful.”  
Earathran nodded with a smile, slightly rolling his eyes.   
His father was far too nervous.  
He left with Endel and Eardaneth to say goodbye to Nadhir, who was remaining behind in the safety of the Homely House.  
~~~  
~ A few hours later, post Eardaneth recounting the tale he had also shared with Alinor…  
“But why would you not tell us?” Earathran asked in distress, staring at his father and uncle, Yaeran, in a new light, “Why did you not tell of us of our bloodline?”  
“Because do you not recall the great hate that Maedhros and his entire family was met with? If the entire race of the Eldar knew of your heritage, you would be killed by those harmed by the heinous deeds my father committed,” Eardaneth explained, and he could see the understanding in his son’s gaze, “I loved my father, yes, but he worked great evil upon our people that cannot be forgiven…easily. I did it…WE did it, because we loved you, Earathran.”  
“It was a wise choice of my brother to wish his Elflings grown and mature on their own feet before telling them of their heritage. An immature and ill-prepared mind is likely to be harmed and not know what to do with such astonishing knowledge.”  
Earathran stared down at the steps his steed took along the invisible path through the Trollshaws, a calm and quiet understanding settling over him.  
“That is why Mama left, isn’t it? She knew your father was Maedhros, she had to, but she knew you were not like him, for she was right of mind. But…when war broke out, Elf against Elf as the dark days, and you lost your limb, as your father before you, she…was frightened,” he said softly, the realization almost comforting, now that he understood the abruptness of his mother’s departure, “Darnuigar and I were so confused…Darnuigar…” Another realization passed over him, and Yaeran bowed his head, voicing, as well,  
“It was truly a thing of disturbance that your brother died by his own hand.”  
“I am Earathran, Son of Eardaneth, Son of Maedhros, Son of Feanor,” Earathran said slowly, sapphire eyes wide, “I had no…not even an inkling…”  
“And it changes nothing,” Eardaneth reached across the distance between their steeds to lay a hand on his son’s shoulder, “It is merely your bloodline. It does not define you, JayGaze. The actions Maedhros committed take no precedence on me, nor on you, nor on Yaeran.”  
Earathran nodded, too much in a state of shock to think or ask much else, even though his father continued to press him if he had any further questions.   
He was conscious of Endel’s slender hand rubbing his arm comfortingly, but he could feel her sitting tensely behind him, having not relaxed since Eardaneth had uttered the life-changing words.   
He was of the bloodline of Feanor. One of the last surviving descendants.  
And he was riding forth to unite the Avari in alliance to make war with their corrupted People…while his father was riding to Mirkwood in hopes of rallying an army under his name…with or without King Thranduil’s consent…  
The great events about to unfold were too much for him to consider, and Earathran resigned himself to focus on his horse’s footsteps once more.  
So much that had once been confusing now made sense, and, to his shock, the world suddenly seemed much, much more frightening.  
~~~  
~ That night…  
Earathran looked at the silent silhouettes of his father and uncle against the moon. They stood quietly next to each other, sharing their watch-duty together.  
His head was still swimming from learning that his grandfather was Maedhros the Tall, and he didn’t bother voicing goodnight to his wife, who lay curled before him, facing him.  
“Do not worry. It will be only you and I soon, once we have split from your father and uncle, and we will talk freely of this so your mind and heart are not so worried,” Endel said softly, touching her husband’s creased forehead gently, lovingly, before brushing auburn strands of hair from his face, “Do not fear, my love. All will be well. It is only shared blood. You are not your grandfather, just as Eardaneth said.”  
“But Endel, how…how will we…our Elfling—“ he began, choking on his words, but Endel cupped his cheek now, lifting herself onto an elbow and interrupting him softly,  
“Sh, sh, Earathran. Truly, it is going to be alright,” she guided his hand onto her growing stomach with an exasperated smile, “It just makes me all the more glad that we have moved to Eregion and into a home of beautiful serenity and privacy. We will raise our child accordingly, as your parents have raised you. And look at what a fine young Elf you have turned out to be.”  
Earathran let out his breath and smiled warmly into her gentle black eyes before leaning forward to kiss her.  
“Amin mela lle. I love you, Endel BrightRaven. Are you sure you will not leave me for fear of what I might become?” he asked teasingly, and she slapped his arm good-naturedly, responding,  
“Of course not! You will become nothing but a loving father. Look at your own father and uncle. I would die before saying a farewell to you!” she glanced up at Eardaneth and Yaeran before kissing her husband’s nose and mouth once more, giggling as she lay back, “Besides, I find it slightly exciting to think I have wed the grandson of Maedhros the Tall.”  
“Amin aute,” Earathran laughed, and wrapped an arm carefully about her waist to pull her snuggly against him, breathing in her comforting scent and thanking the Valar for the countless time for blessing him with her hand.  
~~~


	9. Kin ~ Chapter 8

Alinor lay her sword gently on the rotating grind-stone, watching as the sparks flew from her blade in a beautiful shower of orange and yellow.  
She smiled as she did so, feeling a surge of love for her husband, who had crafted the weapon after she had lost her own, her mother’s, within Angmar.  
The thought angered her greatly, but she sighed, casting the thoughts of her dreadful stay from her mind.  
When she lifted her newly sharpened weapon, it made a pure, lasting ringing noise, glistening in the early morning sunshine.   
She moved her gaze from her blade to gaze out of the shop’s window across the cleared fields and hills along the Bruinen River.  
Scores and scores of Elves of Imladris rallied in the tall grasses, grooming horses, shining armor, sparring…  
It was Alinor’s second time seeing an army mustering. The first time had been of her own People, the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, but she had been far too young to participate.   
Now she was a Lieutenant of the Guard, trained by the sons of Maedhros, she recognized with proud pleasure, and she would ride forth to battle as she had always dreamed.   
Her heart swelled momentarily in excitement, and she watched in amusement as Lynndor walked among the troops, her massive companions, Bishuk and Burz, flanking her.  
The young Elves stared after her and the sleek black Wargs in awe, as if she were a Warlord, then hopped away in surprise when Scuttle pushed through them to follow Lynndor, chittering quietly.  
Something very sharp rested against the small of her back and cut through the tie of the heavy leather apron she had been wearing while sharpening her weapons, successfully removing the overgarment. She turned with a squeak of shock and glared at Elrohir, who grinned at her mischievously, chuckling,  
“You can hardly wait for war, can you, you strange She-Elf.” He hooked the tip of his sword beneath the necklace she was wearing and pulled her forward gently until she hugged him.   
“I am worried for you, however,” he said, then laughed when she abruptly glared up at him and finished, “HOWEVER, there is no other warrior I would rather have at my side.”   
“Wise addendum,” she smiled at him blandly, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, saying, “If only your wit were as sharp as my sword.”  
“If only your heart was as large as your pride,” he retorted softly, and snorted in amusement when she kissed him again before striding past, shoving her sword in her belt.  
“I love you, my StarRider, but I must speak to my father,” she looked teasingly over her shoulder, “Would you come with me?”  
“I was going to sharpen my sword,” Elrohir said, but rolled his eyes when Alinor interjected playfully,  
“You may kiss me again…”  
“Cannot pass that opportunity,” he said, then made her squeal in surprise when he lifted her onto his waist, finishing, “I will carry you, Melamin.”  
“Put me down!” she protested half-heartedly, but laughed as Elrohir continued effortlessly down the path, and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss her husband once more.  
Glorfindel waited until they had passed to step from the adjacent trail, carrying weapons of his own to sharpen.   
He shook his head with a small smile before continuing towards the smithy.  
Young love.   
Even in the Eldar, it made them sweetly foolish.  
~~~  
Aldariil was content to stay away from the mustering of Imladris, readying himself for a far different endeavor.   
He leaned back, clutching the spikes marching along Menelaudh’s spine as she back-flapped. His hair blew about his head in the great wind she created as the FireDrake landed atop a high peak in the Trollshaws.  
Snow rested in drifts in the shade of great craggy recesses, but grass and flowers bloomed in promise of spring where the sun could reach.  
“I believe it fantastic that Lynndor will accompany us, DragonKin, my small-brother, and I wish with all my heart to rescue the Hatchlings, but…Lord Elrond himself has now requested me to accompany them in war,” Menelaudh said when Aldariil had dismounted and settled himself in a crook of her massive wing. She was careful not to twitch or make sudden movements.   
Menelaudh’s voice had matured, as much as Aldariil had grown, but her youth was still easily audible in her voice.   
Dragons grew swiftest in their youth, but once their maturity had been reached, the growing slowed down exponentially.   
A dragon’s size was a true testament of its great age.  
“Do not worry about leaving the army,” Aldariil responded, scratching the leathery surface of her glittering black wing with both hands as he lay back, “We will fly away together once they are on the march. We’ll rescue the eggs within a day and return. We will not even be missed. You know…a daring rescue.”  
“I would still feel bad,” her large, yet feminine voice held an edge of uncertainty, and Aldariil smiled when she lay her massive head down upon the ground, narrowing her icy blue eyes in contentment.  
He marveled that he could share such moments with a Great Worm…as a friend and companion.  
“You truly have a guilty heart, Mellonamin,” he patted her solidly and her great eye turned to look at him amiably, “Do not fret, Menelaudh. If we are put into trouble, I will take the blame.”  
“Oh right, like they will believe you had anything to do with it and not the dragon,” she rolled her eyes in a surprisingly Manlike way before wrapping her tail about them snuggly, draping the end over her nose, “Would you speak to Lynndor of this?”  
“Of course, and Alinor already knows. She just wishes us luck and demands our safe return,” Aldariil answered with a smile.  
Menelaudh fell quiet, then, and Aldariil watched as the sun crested the even taller peak far before them, spilling its beautiful rays into the valleys below and tinging Menelaudh’s black scales with a deep crimson.  
He heard a distant roar that echoed through the peaks that made the hairs on his arms stand.  
He knew the sound would have caused any other Elf to fall from fright, but, for Aldariil, the call of a dragon was more majestic than anything, and he had the privilege of being able to distinguish what certain calls meant, as he had practically grown alongside the FireDrake he was now resting beside.  
He wondered how many dragons, free of corruption and witchcraft, like Menelaudh, existed in Arda. He was honored to be able to so easily access their home-ranges as he was currently doing at liberty with Menelaudh, reaching the untrod peaks of towering mountains in ease upon the back of a Drake, invited into their secluded lives.  
He felt closest to dragons, rather than Elves.   
Perhaps it was for his raising in Gwemyr, among Men rather than the Eldar, that made him this way, but he knew in his heart that he felt more kin with dragons.  
He understood dragons better than he understood Elves or Men.  
He wondered if it were a gift from the Valar, cultured by his sister’s bond with the FireDrake that she had shared with him, or if it were just the fire in his young heart.  
Whatever it was, he was proud of his bond and understanding with dragons, and he would never relinquish it.  
~~~


	10. Kin ~ Chapter 9

Borug raised his fist and the hundreds of marching Orcs organized behind him ground to a halt in a single step.   
He knew he had smelled something odd, something familiar…  
He stared up from the rocky canyon that his army was passing through, waiting. The sun was setting, and it glared painfully down into his eyes.   
Sauron had told them to make all haste to Angmar, as the Brigands had been utterly destroyed, their enemies keen to their plans. He had ordered them to march, even in sunlight, and the Orcs had gladly taken the route of the rocky canyon that bordered the Misty Mountains, making their tedious, secretive way towards their Elven allies, slipping beneath the noses of Lorien, their largest concern.   
They were supposed to converge with the Avari in the northern-most reaches of the Misty Mountains, heading west together in strength to Angmar.   
They had been marching nearly a month, now, and Borug knew that his soldiers were tired and losing their fire for war.  
Now they were stopped, waiting in confusion for why Borug had called an abrupt halt.   
At first, just as he had thought, one tall, slender figure appeared at the top of the canyon, silhouetted magnificently against the lowering sun.   
It stood stoically still for a moment, staring down at them tensely, Borug could see, by his posture, then he heard a short, shrill whistle, almost like a bird chirp, and suddenly hundreds and hundreds of silhouettes began appearing fluidly along the crest of the canyon.  
The scary part of it all, to Borug, was that they were flawlessly silent in their movements.   
As one, the Avari army leapt down the sides of the canyon, and Borug waited patiently until they had formed before him.  
With a tinge of sour pleasure, he recognized that he outlived the original leaders of Sauron’s armies, Garran and Raebdon. He knew that the Brigands were no more, but he was curious as to who had stepped into Garran’s place, as he had not mingled with the Avari since the failed attack on Mirkwood.   
He assumed Maellang.  
That Elf had always been at Garran’s right-shoulder.  
He had just begun searching the crowd for Maellang when a tall, handsome young Avari strode forward confidently, a strange, curved sword at his side.   
For a horrifying, unbelievable moment, Borug thought that Garran was approaching him, but as he looked closer, he saw that this Elf had light freckles and gentler eyes, although their emotion was cold anger.  
Maellang was walking behind him, eyes downcast, fury evident in his steps.  
Borug straightened himself, conscious of how tall the Avari were as they approached.   
He also noticed the strange disfigurations plaguing the powerful Elven army behind their leaders. They were appearing almost Orcish—  
“Greetings,” the young Elf said, and the Orc nodded once, noticing Garran’s circlet resting on his brow.  
“Borug, Leader of the Orcs,” he stated simply, and waited.  
“I am Garrik Garrion, Lord of the Avari, Son of Garran,” the Elf smiled thinly at him, and a wash of understanding eased Borug’s mind.  
“I knew not that he had a son. It seems Vilna was not as useless as we presumed,” Borug sneered, but Garrik’s face remained emotionless, glaring at the Orc in a frighteningly cold manner, so Borug finished quickly, “You appear as your father. We are well met.”  
Maellang had smirked at his comment, but now that Garrik was handling the affairs of High-King of the Avari quite well, he seemed irritated once more.  
“Where are the Drakes I have heard about?” Garrik asked, tilting his head, “They cannot have been with the Brigands, nor are they with you, but Lord Sauron mentioned—“  
“They were with the Brigands, but it seems obvious that they flew ahead to Angmar to be nourished in Sauron’s witchcraft….much to the misfortune of the Brigands, it would seem,” Borug answered, then finished, “Let us make camp and find meat. My soldiers are exhausted and famished.”  
Garrik nodded, and, without warning and to Borug’s great surprise, turned on his heel and whistled to the Avari, who coalesced and followed him from the canyon on light feet.  
Borug growled quietly to himself as he stared up at the walls.   
It would take the Orcs much longer to scale the precipice.  
He sighed and led the way forward, clambering ungracefully over the first boulders.  
~~~  
“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are departing,” Elrohir called to Alinor, leaning into their bedroom and pointing, “You missed farewells.”  
Alinor leapt up immediately, dropping the book she had been reading and exclaiming, “Haldir wouldn’t depart without saying farewell, would he?”  
She exploded past her husband, who pressed himself against the door-jam as hard as he could, watching her with wide eyes as she vaulted out of the open window and balcony, disappearing from sight.  
She raced to the final bridge spanning the Bruinen falls before coming to a breathless halt.  
Celeborn and Galadriel were nowhere to be seen, and she felt an unbelievable defeat settle of her shoulders, which slumped forward as she let out her breath.   
“Ali’, I didn’t leave, and they didn’t make me,” Haldir’s voice spoke behind her, and she whirled about to stare happily at her friend, who slowed to a stop before her, laughing, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you run so fast in all my life.”  
Alinor flung her arms around his neck as he continued, “I can’t go home and miss an opportunity to witness Arda’s history unfolding.”  
“You might die,” she laughed, and he pushed her away, looking at her playfully, responding,  
“With you at my side? I do not think so.”  
“Spar?” Alinor asked, and he shrugged, answering with a pleased smile,  
“Why not. We must prepare for war, anyway.”  
~~~


	11. Kin ~ Chapter 10

Endel and Earathran’s horse thundered to a halt in the midst of the Avari settlement, turning nervously as the tall Elves trotted from their homes and activities, expressions curious.  
Itryd came from a smithy, wiping his pale hands on his apron, face smeared with soot.   
Athey, dressed similarly and gleaming in sweat, followed the taller Elf outside, his young eyes wide with worry. He must be Itryd’s apprentice in blacksmith work.  
It seemed, to Earathran, that the Avari were already arming themselves, and, he thought with a pleased glow, that was a good thing.  
Earathran and Endel had ridden hard and had arrived to the settlement long before they had been expected, and Itryd’s face was concerned.  
“What news do you bring, Son of Eardaneth, High-Captain of Mirkwood?” he asked, and Earathran stood in his stirrups, exclaiming loudly, happily,  
“Master Itryd, Lord Elrond of Imladris would have an alliance! He wishes to join the forces of Imladris with the forces of the undeceived Avari within a month’s time!”   
The Avari cheered almost uproariously, and Itryd visibly relaxed, breaking into a grin.  
“Then by all means!” the Avari leader exclaimed in response, “Let us prepare for war!”  
~~~  
Eardaneth and Yaeran didn’t bother waiting for clearance to enter Mirkwood’s palace walls. They simply cantered their horses across the bridge towards the Stable Gate.   
The guards stationed about the gates stared at their High-Captain and the most esteemed Lore-Master of their Realm as the brothers rode by calmly, and they slapped their fists to their chests in surprise, having not seen the brothers for a very long time now.  
They did not bar their entry.  
The Captain that had filled Eardaneth’s position in his absence approached their steeds immediately at a trot, smiling a greeting and pressing his fist to his chest in salute, as well.  
“My lords Yaeran and Eardaneth,” he said, “You have returned…” he looked at Eardaneth curiously, “You do not have the absconders that King Thranduil sent you after—“  
“I have his map, hopefully that will be enough,” Eardaneth answered, dismounting stiffly after the long ride, “Perhaps we can speak some bloody sense into this young one’s head. Stubbornness runs in that family like none other I have known.”  
The Captain nodded to him and watched as the two tall brothers strode away, their cloaks billowing behind them as they walked in strong purpose. Yaeran’s quiet wisdom was already invisibly felt, and Eardaneth’s quiet anger seemed to be evident in his posture, as stark as his gleaming auburn hair.   
They appeared as the heroes in tales of the 1st and 2nd Ages that he had been told of as an Elfling, the Captain couldn’t help thinking, then he turned with a shake of his head to motion to a young stable-hand.  
~~~  
Eardaneth stood quietly, desperately trying to keep his temper as well as his elder brother.   
“You have been banished,” Thranduil repeated, calmly placing the map that the brothers had returned to him carefully on a desk, “You failed, no, purposefully withheld the son of Raebdon and his robbing Istari friend from me. You failed to obey your King’s rule.”  
“Thranduil, will you listen to yourself—“ Yaeran began, but Thranduil interrupted him, saying,  
“I will not allow you to sway me with your clever tongue, Yaeran. Eardaneth’s love for the Avari was always a mystery to me, how he took up for the Elf which later murdered my wife and unborn daughter. Now you both wish for me to make alliance with the very People who slay our own? There is something quite odd about it all, my old friends. I am sorry. Until this war is over and my fears are proven incorrect, I will do what is best for my People and do away with anything suggesting ties with our enemies and, undoubtedly, Sauron. You are banished, Yaeran and Eardaneth, from the Realm of Greenwood the Great. Now you may return to Imladris with the traitors and murderers of my People. You are blind, my old friends, and I hope with all my heart that my fears of your deception are incorrect. It is time you realized that I am the King of Mirkwood, not an Elfling anymore.”  
“Thranduil,” Yaeran said in a pleading tone Eardaneth had never heard him use, and he looked at him in surprise, “Thranduil, the Avari people are corrupted with witchcraft. We ask for you to ally your soldiers with those that are uncorrupted, who wish to stand against their fallen brethren for the good of Arda. Do you not understand this or is your hatred so strong? Do you not remember who we are? I am Yaeran and I taught you all you know, my brother is Eardaneth, High-Captain of your armies and your own combat instructor. We practically raised you and we both love you as a son! We would do nothing to betray you, we only wish to help you!”  
“In my heart, I believe you, Yaeran, but my mind is ever cautious. I will not play with Death again. You are banished until further announcement, and my answer remains unchanged,” Thranduil said quietly, staring at them challengingly, “I will seek out and destroy the Avari in my own way. I will not ally with their People, corrupt or not. They are the ones who began this mess, Yaeran. They are the ones who took my brother from me, who took my wife and unborn daughter, who took my brother’s wife, they took my father, and tore countless families apart. I am not like my father, I am not weak, and I have learned to not be compassionate. Take them away,” he motioned to the members of the Guard standing by the door to the Hall.  
With that, he turned on his heel and marched from the room, closing the door to the adjacent chamber behind him.  
“Thus Mirkwood’s fall has begun,” Yaeran said quietly, but Eardaneth said quickly,  
“Unless he is brought to sense.”  
The soldiers stepped forward hesitantly, and Eardaneth looked exasperatingly at their Lieutenant, who said uncertainly,  
“Captain SeaGaze—“  
“We are going,” Eardaneth sighed, waving his hand to them, “We will not cause you trouble.”  
The guards nodded and stepped back, Eardaneth noticed, with respectful nods.  
“Master Yaeran, Eardaneth,” Legolas said, trotting quickly to catch up to them, “I wish to speak with you outside?”  
“Come along, young one,” Yaeran said, and beckoned him forward to walk between them.  
~~~  
“As hard as it sounds, my lords, Ada doesn’t….he doesn’t mean it. You aren’t really banished—“ Legolas said, but Eardaneth interrupted him with a sigh, saying,  
“Yes we are, young Prince.”  
“You have to help him…find a way to let him help you and every Elf doing the right thing,” Legolas said lowly, shaking his head, “All my father bleeds is love. It is nearly entirely gone from him…Either that or he conceals it well.”  
“If he shows love, he believes he will be hurt once more,” Yaeran said, “His young heart has been through so much that I understand.”  
“You cannot leave,” Legolas pleaded more than demanded, and Eardaneth looked down at him calmly after he had mounted his horse, saying,  
“Do not fear, Legolas. We might be banished—“  
“But we do not plan on leaving,” Yaeran finished grimly, and spurred his mount forward, Eardaneth following.  
~~~  
Gandalf tugged the sock-gloves Alinor had made for him over his hands, happy at their familiar, soft warmth, and looked up as Menelaudh landed heavily in the glade before them, rumbling happily in her chest in greeting.  
“Saruman! She is here!” Gandalf called, and he looked over his shoulder, but Saruman ignored him, staring down into the gently moving waters of a pool formed by the river.  
“Saruman, come on!” Gandalf called again, worriedly, beckoning to him, but his friend only sighed and waved a hand at him dismissively, answering,  
“You’d best go on, Gandalf. I shall return and speak on matters with Lord Elrond. Menelaudh probably likes you more anyway.”   
The cold stare that he gave Gandalf at the final sentence cut the grey-wizard to the core, and he watched in confusion as the elder Istari slowly walked away.  
He felt the gentle weight of the fiery-stoned ring in his robe pocket, carefully concealed with magic as he had been instructed.   
He had been sure that no one had seen the Ring of Fire gifted to him, but, it seemed, someone more than likely had.  
He didn’t think that Saruman would leave or abandon their friendship, but his sudden aloofness and coolness towards Gandalf hurt.  
He pushed the negative feelings away, however, and strode towards the resting FireDrake, reaching forward to scratch her between their eyes as she lowered her massive head.  
~~~  
Eardaneth didn’t wait for his horse to stop once it had reached their hidden camp by the river, simply dismounting and throwing himself about in fury, attacking the towering reeds with a fury and shouting,  
“That stubborn, pig-headed, inflexible, adamant, bull-minded, impossible, dogged, tenacious young IDIOT--!”   
Yaeran slid calmly from his horse and watched his younger brother’s frustrated proceedings with a small, amused smile.  
When Eardaneth noticed him staring at him, he threw his sword on the ground and demanded, “What are YOU staring at?”  
“I have not seen you so frustrated in quite a long time,” Yaeran replied mildly, turning to remove his steed’s tack, “You should learn to bridle your temper.”  
“That pig-headed boy might be the ruin of this endeavor--!”  
“He is no longer a boy, SeaGaze,” Yaeran turned and looked at him exasperatingly, “He is the King of Mirkwood. Can you blame him for wanting to do what he views is best for his People?”  
“Blinded by hate for what happened to—“  
“The trick of being blind, Eardaneth, is not knowing that you are being deceived,” Yaeran smiled gently at him, “Now calm your heart and let us ponder on what we might say to the Guard, for they have loyal hearts and will not be easily swayed from—“  
“Sh,” Eardaneth demanded, leaping to his elder brother’s side and crouching low with him.  
Yaeran heard the sound as well, like an animal smaller than a horse was trotting rapidly through the dead leaves of the forest, snorting and making bleating noises.  
“It sounds like a goat,” Yaeran whispered and Eardaneth snorted a laugh, almost feeling like an Elfling again.  
As Yaeran had said, a large goat made its way into view with tack of its own, obviously from a different culture.   
An aging Dwarf sat upon its back, humming to itself.  
“Balin!” Yaeran called, recognizing him immediately, and he waved his arms, rushing forward.   
Yaeran and Balin were not so different in their position to the King.  
The Dwarf noticed the two tall Elves trotting towards him, and he pulled the goat to a stop, waiting for them with a welcoming smile.  
“Master Balin, you must not go to the Palace,” Eardaneth said immediately upon reaching them, “Thranduil would not listen to a thing you said, he—“  
“He still grieves, then?” Balin asked sadly, and Yaeran replied,  
“Yes, but his judgement is sorely clouded, more so than your last visit. What brings you this far west?”  
“We fear an attack from a Drake is imminent. Thror is sick, he will not return the jewels and—“  
Eardaneth moaned, so Yaeran answered with a sigh, “Thranduil will not like that news at all, quite simply. He will not send aid. He is preparing for war against the Avari, he cannot spare the soldiers.”  
“Why are you two…. out here?” Balin asked worriedly, and the brothers glanced at one other.  
“It is a long story. Come with us, Master Balin, and we will share our tale.”  
~  
~ Nightfall…  
“It all seems simple enough…The Elves rally and crush the Avari and Orcs before they join forces, that final part by will of the Valar, but, Yaeran, my friend, will be done of the many Drakes Prince Aldariil said that he saw beneath the fortress…or what of Sauron? By Durin’s Beard, you will be roasted!”   
Balin’s long question caused the Elven brothers to look at one another with similar thoughts: Why had they not thought of the Drakes?   
“Sauron will not know that we are planning to fight, we are hoping,” Eardaneth said slowly, “We…have not thought as far as the Drakes…”  
“Would you not need great arrows of—“  
“We have not the time,” Yaeran interrupted the Dwarf gently, “The forces of Imladris and the Avari are already mustering.”  
Balin shook his head gravely, and when he spoke at last, his voice was low, saying, “For the Drakes, your fate is bleak, my friends.”  
“Menelaudh…?” Eardaneth began hopefully, questioningly, but his elder brother only sighed, answering,  
“Against many? I think not, SeaGaze.”  
“Tis’ a pity you cannot explode the creatures,” Balin chuckled, and Eardaneth looked at him sharply, asking,  
“Explode? Do I not remember hearing the tales your People told during their visit in better times of a powder which explodes stone?”  
“Aye,” Balin nodded, then paused, lifting a tentative finger, but Eardaneth continued excitedly,   
“With magic, such a thing might be a successful defense against the younger Drakes!”  
“Thror would not allow us to aid your People in times of war against the Drakes, giving away our secrets. He is plagued with a Dragon Sickness. He covets his wealth above all, and, as your King, his judgement is greatly clouded,” Balin said despondently, but he fell quiet when he realized both Yaeran and Eardaneth were staring at him expectantly.  
“We only need you, Balin,” Eardaneth smiled, and the aging Dwarf began to wave his arms in protest, so Yaeran added,  
“What are the odds of you making it out of the Forest beneath heightened alert of the Mirkwood Rangers? They will fire upon you at sight, since you are not one of the Silvan, if they do not detain you for a very, very long time first.”  
Balin remained silent, moving his hands nervously, and Eardaneth reached forward, laying a hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder and asking simply with a small smile,  
“Please, Master Dwarf?”  
~~~  
~ The next morning…  
The new, youngest members of the Guard who were placed on sentry-duty watched in uneasy surprise as a pair of Elves that emanated power unseen to the eye approached the Stable Gate, a Dwarf astride a goat between then.   
To the young ones’ surprise, they recognized their High-Captain, Eardaneth SeaGaze, who had been absent for quite a long time now, and they immediately pressed their fists to their chests in salute.   
One of the most renowned Elven Lore-Masters still residing in Middle-Earth, Yaeran, beckoned for them to follow them after their steeds had passed through the great gateway.   
“My lords,” the highest ranking young Guard addressed Yaeran uncertainly, “You have been banned…”  
“Go to the Guard and Rangers quarters, those who are on duty, and tell them to gather in this courtyard immediately,” Eardaneth instructed strongly, and the young Elves in uniform glanced at one another before saluting. They turned and dashed away into different corridors.   
~  
Several minutes later, Eardaneth, Yaeran, and Balin, whose eyes remained very wide for the duration of the muster, watched as many uniformed Elves of the Mirkwood Guard and Rangers began to fill the large stable courtyard.   
They were looking about themselves in confusion before turning their eyes on their High-Captain and chief Lore-Master.   
“You will spread the word of this to those able to fight, but who did not get to hear my summons!” Eardaneth called, drawing all eyes to him in a familiar semblance of attention, “Listen to my words, Elven Warriors of Greenwood!”  
He dismounted, and Yaeran followed suit, standing beside him.   
Eardaneth was tall…very tall, Yaeran realized, as if he had not grown with the auburn-haired Elf beside him. Yaeran’s head only reached his shoulder.  
“Our King Thranduil Opherion is a good King…But he has suffered much, as has your Prince, Aldaraen Opherion, DragonScar!” Eardaneth’s pure, clear voice rang out, easily heard, through the courtyard, and Yaeran kept his sharp eyes roving the crowds, feeling uneasy.   
He felt like a traitor to the crown, and, sickeningly, he could not help but think of their father’s, Maedhros’, deeds.  
“We are at war, my friends! Not only against the corrupted Avari, but against a force much larger, much more dangerous, than you might have known, but that I know several of you have suspected. A fallen Maia. Sauron, Annatar, grows in strength in Angmar, gathering Drakes, Men, Orcs, and corrupted Avari into slavery, strengthening them in witchcraft! We know this for many reasons. We have already defeated the Men, the Brigands, in war alongside the Elves of Imladris, and our young Lady Alinor Aldarion was held prisoner at the Necromancer’s hand, suffering grief of which I cannot explain!”  
At the mention of Sauron, several of the younger Elves gasped, but many of the elder merely glanced at one another in grim satisfaction.  
“Is Lady Alinor dead?” a young Ranger called, and Yaeran began to speak now, drawing his brother’s glowing sapphire gaze as he answered, much more softer-spoken than the younger, but just as clearly understood,  
“She is well, but there is time for the telling of our tale at a later time. We no longer have time to waste. Thranduil has spent his time blindly focusing on his petty hateful revenge of hunting down the Avari. The Avari answer to Sauron. They are poisoned by his witchcraft. The High-Elves of Imladris and the untainted Avari which have escaped will form an alliance, preparing for war against the remaining, mustering troops of the Dark Lord. Thranduil refuses the aid of your strength, determined to hunt down the Avari in his separate pursuit of revenge….” He took a long pause, seeing the distressed, wide eyes worn by several of the Elves before him, who were gripping their bows or hilts of their swords tightly in apprehension. He sighed before continuing, “This is difficult to ask…to even word…”  
“But it must be done, or every one of you might be killed by the Avari, who have already fled, when they return with witchcraft, Drakes, and Orcs at their backs!” Eardaneth interrupted, stepping forward, strong voice one again raised.   
He was truly more of their father than Yaeran was, Yaeran couldn’t help thinking, watching his strong brother’s confident stance, hearing his powerful words.  
“I know that many of you feel withheld from doing your part in the fight against darkness!” Eardaneth was saying, “I am not asking you to forsake your King, but to see the folly in his judgement and to come to your own, wise conclusion. He grieves, so others must take the place of strategic direction! Lord Aldaraen will lead the forces of Imladris and of the untainted Avari alongside Lord Elrond as we move forward to crush BOTH the Avari and the Orc before dealing with this rise within Angmar. Will you answer your Lord Aldaraen’s call for aid from his People?”   
The Elves were silent, many mouths hung open, many young Elves looking helplessly at their elder officers.   
“I will lead you to just victory where our King currently cannot!” Eardaneth paused and looked back at Yaeran, who merely nodded once, knowing what his younger brother was thinking.  
Yaeran held no positional power over these Elves, and he knew the deep-seated loyalty they held to his brother.  
“Would you follow your Commander to victory against our enemies?” Eardaneth demanded loudly, but he looked up in surprise when Thranduil pushed his way to the front of the gathered assembly, shouting,  
“You are a traitor, Eardaneth SeaGaze! You who have held the trust of Kings! You are attempting to usurp the throne!”  
“I am doing nothing of the sort! I will lead these Elves of sound minds to battle for the good of Arda, not just a blind goose’s chase to satiate revenge. They will answer your brother’s call, not mine!” Eardaneth answered, sapphire gaze blazing.  
“You ask them to follow you, not my brother! The devilry of your father truly runs in your veins,” Thranduil said forebodingly, and the surrounding Elves looked at him in confusion.  
Eardaneth froze, as did Yaeran, truly drawing a blank in his mind, and Thranduil smiled thinly at him as he practically spat,  
“Oh yes, Eardaneth. My father, Oropher, told me who you two were, but, in my youth and blind love for you and your brother, it made no difference to me…Son of Maedhros!”   
The quiet Elven forces surrounding Thranduil and the tall brothers broke into murmurs and gasps.  
“Would you follow the sons of a murderer?! Is it not clear that they now attempt to turn you against me, against your brothers?” Thranduil asked.  
Several of the much elder Elves were staring at Eardaneth in a newfound sense of realization and short-lived horror.  
There was deathly silence, then, and, to Eardaneth’s great surprise, a young Guard spoke up, saying,  
“Lord Yaeran and Lord Eardaneth are the finest, most loyal, most kind and gentle-hearted Elves I have ever known, my King. I believe that your words are not your own. You know this to be true. You will come to forgive them, but you are bitter and cold in your grief. I will follow my Captain Eardaneth, for I believe it to be right in the Valar!” He tightened his knotted sword belt and trotted forward to stand stoically at his commander’s and former weapons instructor’s side, meeting Thranduil’s gaze evenly.  
“He has not turned against you, Thranduil. He merely answers Aldaraen’s and my own call. Elrond’s call, Lord Glorfindel’s call, Alinor’s call…The call to do what is right in his heart,” Eardaneth said, but Thranduil only stared at him in chilly eyed hate.  
“I see the wisdom in crushing the Orc and Avari forces, King Thranduil,” an officer of the Rangers said almost guiltily, and she strode forward to stand amongst Maedhros’ sons, as well, several of her younger Rangers following her.  
“We are not dividing your People. Aldaraen, Alinor, Aldariil, Elrond…several members of your friends and family have sent us, Thranduil. Will you not listen to—“ Yaeran began, but Thranduil interrupted him, saying,  
“I wonder if this is how our forefathers felt as Maedhros and his brothers divided the Eldar. I cannot help but be bewildered that an Age later, history has repeated itself. I cannot help but see Maedhros and his brother Maglor standing there, one quiet, the other proclaiming his power in his stance alone, auburn hair, great height, eyes lit with the light of the Silmaril—“  
“He may look as his father, my King,” a much older officer of the Guard interrupted quietly, “But he is not Maedhros. Neither is Lord Yaeran…just as you are not your father. I have grown for much of my life with Eardaneth SeaGaze and I know his heart, and I know his brother. I would follow them anywhere. They are not my King, but I could easily name them as such. I would follow their leadership anywhere, and I hear the simple wisdom of their words.”   
He strode forward with a welcoming smile to Eardaneth and Yaeran, taking his stand behind them, and, upon his words, several Elves slowly began walking forward, offering their aid to the brothers’ cause.  
“You would disobey your King?” Thranduil asked after the majority of the Elves had gathered with Yaeran and Eardaneth, making an impressive display behind the sons of Maedhros.   
The armed soldiers, for the most part, stared at their King almost apologetically, shaking their heads.   
“You are all traitors! What witchcraft has been worked over you, as the Avari!?” Thranduil shouted, and even Eardaneth flinched, “Sana aith!”  
Immediately, the remaining soldiers behind Thranduil who were armed with their bows pulled an arrow taught to their ear in obedient habit.  
“NO!” Eardaneth practically screamed, flinging his arms open as if to shield every Elf behind him, and Yaeran physically felt an odd, strange, urgent swell of power about his brother that he had never experienced before, “DO NOT FIRE!”  
“They will return to you in loyalty after we have defeated Sauron, the true evil threatening Arda,” Yaeran stated, as if to an Elfling having a plaything taken away, then he turned to the soldiers, saying, “Muster outside with a horse and your gear. GO!”  
Soldiers scattered in multiple directions, and the Elves behind Thranduil lowered their weapons in almost embarrassed breaking of a habit.   
Thranduil only watched the proceedings about him in wide-eyed shock, as if still not believing what was transpiring, still not believing that he was not living in a nightmare.   
He turned his icy blue gaze to Eardaneth and Yaeran once more with an expression of disgusted disappointment, as if accepting this “falling-apart” of his People, of the Eldar people.  
Eardaneth, for a moment, wished to do nothing more but to go forward and reassure the Elf that he had known since he was a clumsy, curious Elfling, but Thranduil turned on his heel and entered the Mirkwood Palace once more with full intention to see his own war plans fulfilled.  
“You must go with us,” Yaeran leaned down to hiss into Balin’s ear, and the Dwarf nodded nervously, quite pale.  
Yaeran and Eardaneth remounted their horses, looking about at their successfully mustered troops, their allegiance to the good of Arda, not just a blind King.   
Yaeran was pleased to know that they would follow Aldaraen, that they would follow his brother, their Captain, that they trusted them so much. He was pleased that they so easily understood the ‘larger picture’ of the war taking shape in Middle-Earth.  
“Come, Yaeran,” Eardaneth said somewhat darkly, and Yaeran nodded, watching his tall brother steer his mount towards the stable-gate, his auburn-hair buffeting in a wind that suggested a storm.  
~~~


	12. Kin ~ Chapter 11

Aldaraen stopped his horse alongside Elrond’s and Glorfindel’s mounts, watching with a sense of calm satisfaction as the mounted troops of Imladris made their way across the shallow water of Bruinen Gorge, heading towards the valley.   
It was amazing how swiftly the troops of Imladris could travel on horseback.   
From their vantage point, the three Elves could see almost the entire cavalry, led by Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s twin sons.  
A great shadow passed over them, accompanied by near silent swoops of massive wings, and Aldaraen raised his eyes in habitual horror, only to relax when he recognized Menelaudh’s gleaming black underbelly, a green, leaf-shaped jewel resting on her chest.  
The FireDrake dipped slightly to begin an unbelievably swift decline into the valley below, her massive wings open as she glided, and Aldaraen caught a glimpse of his nearly grown son, Aldariil, seated securely near her neck.   
He wondered how Aldariil managed to stay mounted upon the Drake’s back when she turned and flipped in the air. He assumed it came with practiced ease.  
His son was dressed in light armor, as an archer, and for a brief, sickening moment, Aldaraen realized that there was a high possibility of both of Elflings losing their lives in the upcoming battle.   
War was a terrible thing.  
He swept his blue gaze across the valley once more, sharp Elven gaze looking for a familiar form, and he found Lynndor and her strange companions, Bishuk and Burz.   
Scuttle had remained at Rivendell.  
The She-Elf wore her freshly cleaned Rangers uniform, and leisurely rode upon the back of one of the massive black Warg brothers. She leaned forward and scratched its ear, the healthy, gleaming animal allowing its tongue to loll, in response.  
“And there is our lone, token Lorien Elf,” Glorfindel chuckled, motioning with his hand.   
Haldir and Alinor rode side by side, speaking seriously on some matter as their steeds splashed into the shallow water.   
The army of Imladris Elves wore deep blue and silver uniforms, while the few Mirkwood Elves from Rhovanion wore deep forest green and brown uniforms. The single Lorien Elf wore silver.   
Their discussion complete, Aldaraen watched his daughter clap Haldir on the shoulder before spurring Forwen, her large black mare, into a gallop, rushing past the soldiers, who watched her go past with small smiles, until she reached the head of the company, pulling her horse alongside her husband’s.  
Elrohir grinned at her and held her chin gently, pulling her towards him in her saddle to kiss her, leaning across the gap of their horses.  
Aldaraen had never seen love on the way to war, and he snorted, feeling embarrassed when Elrond and Glorfindel chuckled.  
“They will be quite a couple on the battlefield, no? They both have spirit,” Glorfindel smiled, and Elrond added,  
“And my son married a maiden with a FireDrake as her closest companion.”  
“Such is the fate of the Eldar…ever surprising us all,” Glorfindel smiled, then clucked his tongue at his steed, making his way after the last of the mounted soldiers.  
~~~  
“Where did you find all of those?” Itryd asked in amazement, staring into the large cart Earathran’s steed pulled into the center of the Avari establishment.   
Earathran hopped from the seat and landed lightly, answering, “The Men near Lon Daer. It was the only color available in such quantity, but I thought it a good differentiating color.”  
Itryd and several other Avari gathered about the cart to look at the few hundred sky-blue scarves piled within.   
“The Avari which are our enemies dress entirely in black. You also wear black, seeing as that is the uniform you kept after you fled, but with these scarves tied about your arm…” Earathran explained, taking a sky-blue cloth and tying it securely about Itryd’s strong bicep, “Our allies will easily tell you apart from our enemies.”  
“Brilliant,” Itryd smiled, watching as the Avari began passing the beautifully colored, vibrant clothes to each other, tying them about their biceps, “And they are fair to the eye, additionally.”  
“Of course,” Earathran laughed, turning to help Endel from the cart, but she was busy handing scarves out to the waiting Avari warriors.   
He turned in surprise when Itryd pressed a scarf into his hand, the Avari chuckling, “It matches your eyes, no?”  
“I don’t need one. I am quite obviously not an Avari,” Earathran laughed, indicating his auburn hair, but Itryd looked at him seriously now, replying,  
“We wish to give you a uniform of black, now with a blue scarf, my friend.”  
“Why--?” Earathran began, but Itryd interrupted, saying,  
“I wish for you to lead our forces alongside me. It would be an honor for the son of Eardaneth, son of Maedhros, to share in the command.”  
Earathran had spoken with Itryd of his heritage, trusting the elder Elf and accepting his guidance in how to deal with the information. He had felt much better after sharing his troublesome news with someone else.   
Itryd reminded him much of Yaeran.  
“I…But I am not even an officer—“ he began, but Itryd laughed, interrupting once more,  
“In Greenwood, perhaps, but here, you will share my command. You have the strategic mind of your forebears.”  
“I…It…” Earathran shook his head, clearing his mind, then finished, “The honor would by mine, Itryd.”  
“Very good!” the Avari leader exclaimed and beckoned to the young Sergeant, finishing, “We will find you a uniform in the fashion on my People. Come.”  
~~~  
~ Erebor…  
“These are priceless jewels,” the Dwarf that was examining one of the white diamonds from Mirkwood placed the jewel carefully back into the small chest with the others, looking worriedly up at his companion and adding, “King Thror does not wish to return them to the King.”  
“Are they not his brother’s? The Prince Aldaraen’s?” the other Dwarf asked, and the former nodded, replying,  
“I believe so, but I cannot recall. I can only hope that Thror comes free of his sickness soon. The last thing we need is the hate of the Elvenking upon our backs.”  
“I can only hope that Balin is well, and that his message for aid against whatever creature sets its evil magic upon this place is heard.”  
The Dwarves gently closed the lid of the small chest of white, starlit jewels, and left the hall together to speak with their King, their examination complete.


	13. Kin ~ Chapter 12

~ North of the Misty Mountains…  
An Avari pushed the remains of the meal their new Orc companions had made of a deer into the river, pausing to wash the blood from his hands in the cold water.  
He stood and was slightly startled when he saw Maellang, previously unnoticed, standing angrily in the shadows of trees in the full-moon’s light. His pale face was deathly twisted in a guise of hate, and his black eyes held no shine. The Avari gasped quietly in surprise when Maellang abruptly turned his head to stare at him.  
“Maellang…I—I did not see you,” he said quickly, but Maellang beckoned him closer. The Elf knew that to not obey a simple command might mean a punishment with some form of witchcraft, and he slowly stepped towards him.  
“That boy Garrik-” Maellang spat his name, “-Is not fit to lead the Avari.”  
The Elf remained silent.   
The Avari, he knew, loved Garrik as they had loved Garran. Thus far, Garrik had been a fine ruler, introducing something closer to care that they had not experienced in quite a long time. It bothered Maellang for some odd reason…  
“Your rewards will be mighty if you help me lead the Avari back to victory, for I fear the path we are now treading. I do not believe Garrik is fully loyal to our cause…”  
Fear settled over the Avari’s heart, and he took a step back to retreat, surprised when Maellang allowed him to leave, his flat black eyes watching him for only a moment longer before looking back at the river, hissing, “Think on the matter, Elf.”  
The Avari wasn’t sure of what to do, having never thought that his People would fall prey to division and assassination…So he did the only thing that seemed logical, at the moment.  
He sought out the Avari’s beloved King.  
~  
“I believe he might wish to oust you, my lord…or worse, murder you,” the Avari finished his report to Garrik nervously, standing quietly with his hands behind his back.  
Garrik’s slender back was towards him, arms crossed.   
Finally, slowly, Garrik turned around, but his lips were pushed to the side in a quirky, Man-like expression the Avari had never seen an Elf wear before.  
“You are not the first to tell me such a thing,” Garrik said softly, his tone belying the innocent expression, “Thank you for telling me. I am afraid I must think of what to do with Maellang.”  
“You are welcome, my lord,” the Avari said hesitantly, half expecting to be told to bring Maellang to him, but Garrik remained silent.   
The Avari Elf departed hastily, not daring to glance back.  
~~~  
~ East of Rivendell, halfway to the Misty Mountains…  
Aldariil gazed up at the nearly full moon above them.   
The Imladris host had made their camp in a large field, allowing their horses to rest, and Menelaudh was all too happy for the brief respite.  
Aldariil had purposefully taken a spot at the far edges of the encampment, resting in the warm folds of Menelaudh’s wing, draped over him protectively.  
“Menelaudh,” he jabbed his elbow into her side, prodding beneath the more malleable scales of her belly to make sure she felt him, “Menelaudh, wake up.”  
“I am awake, small brother,” she grunted, the great gust of her snort sucked Aldariil’s fluffy head of fawn colored hair forward and then back. He shook his head, glad he kept his hair short.  
He pulled on the glimmering black bracers and leg protection that he crafted himself from Menelaudh’s shed scales.  
He knew he ought to make a full body set, it would be perfect protection from dragon-fire, but he had run out of time.  
“I will fetch Lynndor,” Aldariil said, and he turned to walk quietly into the camp, but jumped backwards slightly, his breath hissing as he withheld a startled yelp.  
Lynndor already stood dressed before him, grinning.   
“My heart was too excited to sleep,” she answered, then looked down when Bishuk and Burz approached her silently, tails low and gaze curious with a puppy-like quality.  
“You cannot come with me, my friends,” Lynndor whispered to them, “Stay with Raebidus, he will care for you. Lle hama sinome. I will join you soon, Melamins.”  
Aldariil watched the Wargs’ ears droop almost comedically and he couldn’t help feeling a small tinge of sadness for them.  
Lynndor hugged each large animal in turn, ruffling their thick fur, before saying something in Elvish and pointing back into the camp.   
Bishuk whined once, then followed Burz towards Raebidus’ sleeping form , curling at his feet, unknown to the Man.  
“Let us leave now so that we might be back before 3 sunrises have past,” Aldariil whispered, and Lynndor nodded.  
The two Elves climbed quietly onto Menelaudh’s back, and Lynndor handed several large sacks to Aldariil. She wrapped her arms about the young Prince’s waist as the FireDrake spread her massive black wings, flapping several times as quietly as she could to rise into the night sky.  
~~~  
~ Enedwaith Avari settlement…  
“Auta no’!” Itryd’s yelled command made Earathran hold Endel more tightly against him, burying his face in her gleaming black hair.   
He was dressed entirely in black, in the uniform of the Avari.   
“I will wait for you here, Melamin. Return to me after the battle,” Endel said in his ear, her voice trembling from withheld emotion, and Earathran murmured,   
“If, my love.”  
“No need to remind me,” she said softly, “I have no doubt in your skill. Be ever wary, JayGaze, and return to me safe. Amin mela lle. I love you.” She wrapped the blue scarf loosely about her husband’s neck, pulling him forward to kiss him as she knotted it loosely, finishing, “Now you must go. Ride!”  
Earathran nodded, looking up as the many horses with their Avari riders began galloping past him.   
It was a beautiful sight, he thought. Their black uniforms, some with black facial coverings, and then the single, sky-blue scarf fluttering in the wind about their bicep or neck.   
The She-Elves remaining at the settlement stood solemnly, quietly, watching as the host rode away.  
Endel grasped her husband’s head once more for a final kiss, even as he mounting his horse, and he looked down at her sadly as he spurred his mount forward to become caught up in the galloping Avari army, raising his hand in farewell to her.  
The Avari were strangely silent except for strange whistles that were passed along from head to rear of the galloping host, and, to Earathran’s pleasure, he realized he understood some of the commands and simple messages, as Ardryll had taught them in Mirkwood before his wrongful execution…  
He put the thoughts from his mind and focused on pushing his stallion swiftly in passing the other Avari to reach Itryd at the head of the force, the Elves glancing at him with gleaming black eyes.   
It was odd that he found himself riding among the enemies of his father, but he continuously reminded himself that they were in alliance, and these Elves had fled before witchcraft had entirely corrupted and deceived their minds. They were attempting to right the wrong.  
Earathran felt out of place, surrounded by tall, milky white Elves with black hair and eyes, but he felt empowered. He wondered if this is what Garrik had felt like in Mirkwood, if not slightly worse.  
His horse finally pulled alongside Itryd’s, the Avari leader wearing his uniform facial mask from habit, covering his mouth and nose, but Earathran could tell by his eyes that he was smiling at him.  
Earathran returned the expression and without a second thought, pulled his own black facial covering into place against the dust of the many horses.   
~~~  
~ Angmar…  
Khelekmin stretched out to his full length along the cavern floor beneath one of the many fortresses of Angmar, his white scales hissing across the stony ground.  
He didn’t have to see himself to know that he was magnificent.  
He heard the sounds of ravenous eating and looked towards where two smaller, Drakes tore into the carcass of some strange beast Khelekmin did not recognize, but he did not care. One of them was a smaller, younger SnowDrake.   
His mind was strangely clear today after his rest, and he registered that the strong SnowDrake before him was his offspring, his son.   
He had dreamed of a gentle-eyed Avari She-Elf he had named RoeHeart…the memory of her troubled him greatly, but he could not quite place her importance. Something told him he was losing his mind. He wondered if the memory of RoeHeart had sparked this strange, calm moment in his own mind.  
To his surprise, while gazing upon his Hatchling, he recalled the fierce encounter he had had with the black FireDrake nearly half his size. His daughter.   
She had told him that his mind was enslaved, had asked him to return to his glory, that she didn’t believe he was entirely corrupted and enslaved to the Necromancer…but was he?   
His daughter had fought her brother, had slain him with the aid of her small, useless friends, and then she had not seemed to care about what she had done, knowing that her brother was a creature poisoned by witchcraft.   
These thoughts troubled the massive SnowDrake so much that he spread his wings and shook them, as if shedding away his troubles, and the two younger Drakes looked up at him with pale eyes, watching him warily.  
One had a massive scar running across his eye.  
The Drakes occasionally got into terrifying, violent fights amongst each other; the magnificent, wise Dragon falling to the behavioral pattern of dumb animals.  
Khelekmin sighed as he felt a heavy presence wrapping about his mind, and he opted to rest his chin back on the cold floor, closing his eyes until next he woke.  
~~~  
Elrohir blinked open his eyes in the small tent he had hastily pitched, having been awoken by the sunrise filtering through the thin cloth, the soft tinkling of steel as armor and weapons were moved outside, and the snorting of horses.  
He looked down warmly at Alinor, who was curled against him as if to stay warm, but his affection for her quickly waned as he noticed the tense expression on her sleeping face.   
The hand resting on his chest clutched the fabric of his clothes in her fist and she was trembling.   
A tear slid down her cheek, and, at that, Elrohir sat up and jostled her, saying, “Wake up, Alinor. Alinor!”  
At his final word, yelling her name loudly, Alinor abruptly sat up, as well, her hand clutching at her ring finger, something she seemed to do nearly every time a nightmare plagued her.  
“Melamin?” Elrohir asked softly, and her wide, emerald gaze shifted to him in shock, remaining frightened for only a moment. She closed her eyes and let out her breath when her husband’s gentle hand held her face.   
“You were dreaming again, my love. A nightmare,” he said, and smiled when she leaned forward to kiss him lovingly.  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Elrohir immediately responded,  
“No apologies, Ali’. What was it about?”  
“I believe he still reaches for me in my dreams…” Alinor trailed away before falling quiet, and Elrohir sighed, leaving the subject at that.  
His wife was pale and dark circles covered her eyes.   
“Let’s get you moving, then,” he said softly and pulled her to her feet just as Elladan peered into the tent, stating hurriedly,  
“Ali’, your brother is gone.”  
Alinor only sighed, to the twin’s surprise, and she nodded, muttering, “I know.”  
~  
Raebidus awoke slowly, hearing several Elven voices raised, as if something was wrong.  
For a brief moment, he smugly pleased at how accustomed he was being among the Eldar, how familiar their ways were to him. He attributed most of it to his raising alongside an Elf, Garrik…  
He wondered how and where Garrik was. He still considered him his little brother, and the manner of their parting made him ill. That hadn’t truly been Garrik, something had changed in his heart, as he recalled Ardryll mentioning…corrupted or deceived by witchcraft. He should’ve taken him with he and Saruman when they had departed Mirkwood in search of Sauron.   
The red-haired Man sat up slowly when something warm and wet smeared across his face, but yelled in shock when his sight focused on the giant Warg’s face peering closely at him.   
At his obvious awakening, the large animal snuffled his hair before sitting back with a pleased expression on his face.  
“Bishuk and Burz,” Raebidus sighed, flopping back onto his back in relief before jabbing at the animal’s snout with his boot, “You scared me, fellow.”  
The two Wargs stood and paced about him, whining, and Raebidus was continuously surprised at how much like common wolves or dogs the Wargs seemed to be, if not slightly more intelligent and pack-oriented.  
“What is the matter?” Raebidus asked as the brothers simultaneously pushed their great heads beneath his arms and pushed him forward, almost successfully bring him to his feet, “Where is Lynndor?”  
The Wargs paused and pricked their ears at the name and Raebidus knew he had found the source of their discomfort.   
“Where is Lynndor?” he asked again slowly, and, as one, the two black Wargs looked to the sky to stare up at nothing in particular.  
Raebidus was confused until he glanced towards the border of the forest, where Menelaudh and Aldariil should have been, but the young Elf and FireDrake were nowhere to be seen.  
“Thank you,” Raebidus said absently, scratching the animals between their ears, then turned and began searching Elrond, Aldaraen, or Glorfindel.   
~~~


	14. Kin ~ Chapter 13

Aldariil scanned the bare, stony ground of Angmar as he, Lynndor and Menelaudh flew above it, searching for any sign of life, but he saw nothing.   
The desert, rocky wasteland was near silent but for the continuous droning of some strange bug.  
Aldariil continually repeated to himself in his mind that it would be alright, that they would escape with their lives and that this…wasn’t a bad idea, but he couldn’t help noting that Sauron had lived so much longer than he, that he had been breached once…that he might not let it happen again.   
He wondered what the dark lord was doing at that moment.   
Preparing his fortress from attack? Overseeing his Drakes…? That would be the worst scenario.   
Aldariil hoped to be in and out of the Drake’s cavern before anyone noticed, Maia and Drake alike.  
They didn’t have the magic capabilities of the Istari or their ancient Eldar companions to ward off any sort of minor attack from Sauron.  
Menelaudh spoke the words that Aldariil had grown to fear far too soon, her young voice calling as softly as she could, “We are here.”  
Aldariil leaned over her side to see, clutching at her scales with his hands and knees.   
She was circling far above a familiar architectural design, and his stomach twisted in a moment of nerves.  
“Do not fear. Be glad you are not facing an army,” Lynndor said quietly, putting her hand on the young Elf’s shoulder, but he looked back at her in dark calmness, answering,  
“They may number no more than five or six, but their strength equals any army, and I am perhaps more frightened of facing something I do not know than facing something familiar.”  
“Dragons are familiar to you?” she asked worriedly, but Aldariil shook his head, replying,  
“I am familiar with Dragons. Not corrupted, evil Dragons that are…animalistic. Dragons are not animals. They are something more.”  
Lynndor fell quit then as Menelaudh began to circle lower and lower on silent wings, the only sound being the wind of their descent.   
The FireDrake landed behind a small pile of boulders, which effectively hid them all from sight, before allowing the two Elves to slide from her back. She lowered her great head to them as Aldariil began speaking in a lowered voice,  
“Lynndor and I will sneak in by foot and retrieve the eggs without anyone noticing our presence…Valar willing. You will wait here, Men’. Only if you hear us call for you in desperation are you to enter that cave. Understand?”  
Menelaudh’s icy blue eyes were wide and obviously nervous, and Aldariil realized that Lynndor was older than both he and the FireDrake combined, more likely than not.  
“Be careful, small friends,” she whispered, then touched the top of Aldariil’s head with her glittering black muzzle in the most gentle gesture that Lynndor had ever seen such a humongous creature perform.  
“We will return presently. Keep your ears sharp, Mellonamin,” Aldariil said to Menelaudh, then motioned to Lynndor, and the two Elves began making their way towards the ominous cavern entrance below the Angmarim fortress.  
~  
The closer they drew towards the yawning entrance, the heavier the stench of death became.   
Aldariil heaved once, but immediately stoned himself to the smell when Lynndor didn’t seem to notice.  
She had seen the war between their People, the Avari and their allies.   
Mere smell was probably no challenge at all for the She-Elf.  
The Elves didn’t dare light a torch, didn’t dare breath too loudly, didn’t dare walk too swiftly. It was very quiet within the cavern.   
Aldariil was clutching the large burlap sacks for the eggs so tightly in his sweaty palms that he could feel them moistening to the touch.  
After what seemed like hours, but what were really a few minutes, they emerged into the massive chamber Aldariil vaguely remembered entering with Menelaudh.   
Weak, early morning light filtered into the cavern from recesses in the ceiling above and Aldariil was very grateful indeed.  
He and Lynndor stood silently beside the wall, their hearts beating so loud in their chest that they feared they would be heard.   
A massive SnowDrake was, seemingly, asleep in the center of the cavern, nearly filling the entire length of his particular section of floor that the other, smaller Drakes seemed happy to leave to his own personal ownership.   
Khelekmin, the father of his closest friend and the SnowDrake that ruined his father.   
Aldariil felt anger towards the animal and was glad for the pocked flesh where one of his eyes should have been, where his father had pierced it with an arrow to save his brother…and subsequently slaying Garrik’s mother.   
Aldariil shook his head. The fates of the Elves he knew were strangely intertwined indeed.  
Besides Khelekmin, there were at least three adolescent Mountain-Drakes, reddish-green in color, a ruddy shade, and several of the strange, mutated, much smaller black-colored Drakes with rounded heads; the ones that couldn’t breathe fire.  
Aldariil had to pause and consider this, desperately trying to still his pounding heart.   
When he had flown into the cavern with Menelaudh, she had sensed at least 7 or 8 Drakes, not counting the worm-like ones in the far corner, there, and Aldariil trusted her sense of smell.   
He recounted Khelekmin, the three adolescent Mountain-Drakes…  
When they had raided the fortress, Menelaudh had slain a Mountain Drake and SnowDrake, one of her brothers, that made two more.  
Aldariil finally realized Menelaudh’s other brother was missing, and he looked back down the dark tunnel they had come from, worriedly.  
Menelaudh was aggressive in battle, but the males, he had observed, were far quicker to fury and attack.   
He voiced his assumption of the missing, young SnowDrake to Lynndor, and she replied, lips on his ear,  
“There is nothing we can do about it. It seems we have caught them early enough in the morning that they are still slumbering, as you said was habit with Menelaudh. Well done, young one.”  
And with that, Aldariil watched in sickening apprehension as Lynndor entered the wider space, staying along the wall. She looked back at him with a small, confident smile, and beckoned him to follow.  
Aldariil placed every step with painstaking care.  
It seemed to take them a lifetime to reach the closest corner of the cavern before pausing for a breath, and Lynndor motioned an egg shape with her hands before shrugging.  
Aldariil understood her question and pointed up towards one of the many ledges formed by smaller, shallow caves all along the larger cavern’s walls.  
He could see the large nest, formed by many piled rocks and plastered with mud and dead grass.   
The tops of four eggs were visible, an off-white, tannish color.   
Lynndor and Aldariil simultaneously saw the only place to climb up to the nest and they looked at each other in equal dismay.  
They would have to clamber up several slippery outcroppings.   
Aldariil was positive that had they been Men, even athletic Hunter Men like the men of Gwemyr, that they would not be able to climb up the wall.  
“Slowly,” Lynndor whispered to him and Aldariil nodded, carefully placing his soft boot on the first small bulge of rock. It wasn’t even a step, just a malformity in the stone.  
He stretched his arm over his head until he could grasp the next handhold, carefully, slowly, making his way upwards.  
He was aware of Lynndor climbing after him, and he glanced down just as he heard a hissing noise and a quiet gasp from his companion.   
Before he could see what had happened, he felt a deadweight on his foot, Lynndor’s hands wrapped securely about his boot. He clenched his teeth, hanging onto the precipice with his arms, half of his body having been over the lip.   
He could feel his strong shoulders straining, the lean muscles sliding as he hoisted himself upwards until Lynndor could find her next foothold.   
Finally, the deadweight left, and he glanced down to see a very much pale She-Elf staring up at him gratefully.   
He showed his teeth nervously, then continued on his way.   
He reached the high ledge where the nest was and rolled onto it in relief, allowing his muscles to rest. He only needed the momentary respite, and immediately leaned over the edge to help Lynndor finish her climb.  
He didn’t wait for her to get to her feet, crawling over to the nest with the sacks and peering into it.   
There were four eggs, and, up close, they seemed almost dappled, like a robin’s egg.   
“What are they?” Lynndor whispered, and Aldariil answered, his heart swelling momentarily in pity for the large eggs,  
“I don’t know. I only know a FireDrake, but never saw her egg.”  
Aldariil reached forward slowly until he could cup his hand over the curve of the nearest egg, feeling its warmth, its delicate shell…and it cracked.  
Aldariil yanked his hand away in shock when a long crack fractured a section of the egg, amniotic fluid leaking from the wound.  
“You cracked it!” Lynndor whispered loudly, pushing him aside violently, but before she could touch the egg herself, a wet, glimmering muzzle, blunt, and about as long as a finger, pushed its way through the shell, small, wheezing breaths seeming louder than the Elves’ whispers.  
“They’re hatching,” Aldariil moved back in front of Lynndor, surprised to feel himself on the verge of tears as the animal continued to push strongly and independently through its shell. He reached forward and allowed the Hatchling’s nose to rest in his palm, whispering, “Hello, little one. Welcome to the world.”  
The other eggs remained still, so Aldariil quickly tucked a large egg into a sack of its own, handing two to Lynndor. They were surprisingly heavy, and she struggled with the weight.   
He tied one egg-sack to his belt and carefully began pulling shell fragments from the Hatchling’s pinkish, scale-less body. Weak, paper-thin wings struggled free to hang limply at its sides, the impossibly small bones spreading through the transparent skin akin to bat’s wings.   
“To the Valar, you are so beautiful, precious one,” he whispered, and noticed that its eyes were not yet opened, as a mammal’s.   
He delicately lifted its tiny frame and wiped the remaining fluids from its body before swaddling it as he knew how in the sack, holding it protectively in his arms. It rubbed its head against his ribs, mouth open, miniscule teeth sharp and gleaming in the weak light.   
Aldariil nodded to Lynndor, and she began to make her way back towards the rocky precipice they had scaled.   
He leaned over to peer down, judging if they could leap down safely, and the hilt of his dagger accidentally pinched against the tender skin of the Hatchling.   
With a piercing squeal, the Hatchling announced its arrival to the world, and Aldariil froze, closing his eyes slowly while Lynndor froze in a half-crouch.  
Below them, to their surprise, none of the Drakes, nor the mutants, seemed to care, remaining still on the stone floor, slumbering in the early morning. The smallest movement they made was a gentle snort or a shifting of a massive wing.   
Aldariil comforted the Hatchling before looking at Lynndor in warning, nodding once to signal her to continue her descent.   
He had just begun to follow her when the She-Elf disappeared over the ledge when he heard a sound that made his stomach sick.   
The deepest growl, impossibly slow, growing in volume and tension behind him…above him.   
He turned and watched as a glittering white head slowly extended from the ledge a few feet above them, its nostrils flared, canine fangs bared.   
The SnowDrake’s growl made his head rattle and he found himself clutching the Hatchling perhaps a bit too tight as the massive creature, slightly larger than Menelaudh, slowly turned its long neck until it was staring him in the eye.   
To his surprise, the marching spines and scale pattern between the SnowDrake’s eyes matched Menelaudh’s, and he felt a thrill knowing that he was face to face with his closest companion’s brother.   
He wondered what his name was, if he even had one.  
The SnowDrake hadn’t seen Lynndor yet, to Aldariil’s relief, and he took a slow step back, unsure of what to do.   
A second passed before, without warning, the SnowDrake’s massive jaws opened and a deafening roar, less than three meters from Aldariil’s face, echoed through the silence of the cavern.  
Immediately, every Drake raised their head at the deafening scream and the Hatchling began to cry out.  
Aldariil was quite certain that the SnowDrake was not the father, as there were no other SnowDrakes about, and Drakes didn’t crossbreed. The Hatchlings must be Mountain-Drakes.  
He turned and fled as the SnowDrake’s jaws clamped down over empty air where he had previously been standing, running back along the ledge, desperately searching for way out. He could hear the massive Dragon sliding down onto the ledge behind him, the loud hissing noise he was accustomed to, signaling the Drake was about the loose a blast of fire.   
He threw himself behind a pillar of stone and blue fire blew past either side of him, making the fair hairs on his arms curl in the heat.   
He held the Hatchling close against his neck, wrapped in his arms and covered by his head.   
He remembered Raebidus telling him that FireDrakes had typical orange fire, while SnowDrakes possessed blue fire, hotter and more fierce than any other dragon.  
The fire ended and he could hear Lynndor screaming his name, but he didn’t have the time to look back.   
He held the excess of the sack the Hatchling was wrapped in between his teeth and leapt upwards powerfully, grasping the lip of the next ledge above his head and pulling himself up, grateful for his strength.  
He heard the SnowDrake’s jaws snap below his feet as he pulled them over the top.   
This ledge was far larger, and he saw a Mountain Drake raise its head in the dark recess before him, blinking its eyes blearily.   
He hissed in frustration and leaped up once more, barely grasping the next ledge, the SnowDrake scrabbling up the ledge he had just occupied.  
The Mountain-Drakes were a ruddy red with some areas of green, while the SnowDrakes were glittering white, and the mutants were an ugly grey.   
Menelaudh was drastically different, such a pure, flawless black color.   
Aldariil hated to do it, but he knew it was necessary as flames roared up before him from the ledge below.   
He cupped his hands about his mouth and howled, the piercing sound echoing about the cavern.   
He leaned over the ledge to see the Drakes below milling about, two Mountain-Drakes beginning to hop and climb up ledges in curiosity. He didn’t get to observe them long, because the SnowDrake’s head abruptly shot from the ledge below like a snake with a speed that defied its size.   
Aldariil threw himself backwards, howling once more.  
“Hang on. Be still, brave one,” he whispered to the Hatchling as it began to squirm, snagging its claws in his singed tunic, but he looked forward in sickening dread as he heard a familiar, deafening ‘thooming’ sound, the sound of the SnowDrake’s wings beginning to flap.  
It rose into view, tired of climbing, and opened its mouth, the hissing sound beginning to grow from its throat once more, but just as the blue glow began to become visible in the back of its throat, Aldariil heard a familiar roar, slightly more high-pitched than the SnowDrake, and Menelaudh’s glittering black form crashed into her brother’s, sending them both tumbling from sight.  
Aldariil ran back to the ledge and glanced down, seeing Lynndor pressing herself back against a wall as a Mountain-Drake snapped at her, and, even though the dragon’s head was larger than a horse, the She-Elf still landed a solid kick on the animal’s nose, and it jerked its head back in surprise.  
Aldariil howled once more and Menelaudh broke free from her tussle with the SnowDrake just before the two dragons collided on the ground. She flapped mightily, gaining altitude, but Aldariil pointed at Lynndor.  
The FireDrake got the idea, dodging a stream of blue fire from her brother before making her way towards Lynndor.  
To his horror, Aldariil watched as the SnowDrake looked back up at him, finding the source of the howl, and immediately began flapping, rising swiftly in their direction.   
Aldariil had barely made it to the back of the cavern when the SnowDrake flung himself into the recess, skidding to a stop, his claws screeching painfully on the stone floor.  
Menelaudh’s brother seemed almost animalistic, not wise or calm at all, like his sister, and Aldariil scrambled out of the way as the dragon vaulted forward, attempting to snap him in its jaws again.  
The weight of the egg around his belt was beginning to make his slender hip sore, and Aldariil raised it into his other arm, holding the Hatchling in the other.  
He felt strangely calm being faced with such a furious beast, and he attributed it to his practical raising with Menelaudh.  
He looked over the ledge as he backed against it, seeing Lynndor clambering onto Menelaudh’s back, and he howled once more.   
He looked towards the SnowDrake just as the dragon was lunging for him, and he desperately tried to keep his balance, but one of his boots slipped on the smooth stone and his heart leapt into his mouth and he felt himself falling.   
Aldariil briefly saw the SnowDrake stare at him in surprise before he forced himself to twist in the air, falling rapidly.   
For a moment, he thought that his descent had slowed until he realized Menelaudh was merely nearly matching his falling speed, diving after him with folded wings, claws desperately outstretched for him.   
The two sacks that Lynndor had been carrying were tied securely to her belt.   
Aldariil struggled towards her and grasped the FireDrake’s side just as she was forced to spread her wings before slamming into the ground.   
Aldariil felt his face collide against her black scales at their violent halt and felt something hot running from his nose, tasted blood, but he didn’t care, desperately hanging on, barely hanging on, as Menelaudh flapped violently to gain altitude, avoiding the many MountainDrakes that were beginning to rise into the air, as well, intrigued by this hunt.  
Lynndor’s hands grasped the collar of his tunic, pulling the nearly grown Elf upwards against the powerful gravity G’s of their swift ascent.   
Aldariil’s heart felt as though it could beat normally once more as he settled normally onto Menelaudh’s back. He heard Lynndor scream when the FireDrake rolled to the side to avoid the SnowDrake, who nearly crashed down on top of them, and her arms wrapped suffocatingly around his neck.  
He strained against her until Menelaudh righted herself and he elbowed the She-Elf, making her release him.   
He heard her screamed apology above the roar of the SnowDrake bearing down on them from behind, and was suddenly enveloped in blackness.   
He realized Menelaudh had made it into the tunnel leading outside and he looked over his shoulder, seeing a Drake enter the tunnel behind them, but he was unsure which it was.   
He squinted his eyes when Menelaudh abruptly broke into the orange morning light of the rising sun, the cool wind washing over him, and he looked down at the Hatchling as it began to squirm in his lap.   
He lessened his grip about its delicate body and allowed it to raise its head, sniffing the wind.   
Aldariil wished it could see the sunrise. He gently rubbed its head with his thumb.   
It had had quite an exciting first few minutes in the world.  
Menelaudh was climbing into the sky at a steep angle, the fortress only a smear on the ground, and he looked below them to see a glittering white shape appear, stark against the grey, rocky ground.  
“Men’, best keep us moving!” he called, and she nodded, looking back to make sure she had both Elves.  
“Do you have the small ones?” she called, and Aldariil nodded. She squeezed her eyes closed in an expression of joy before chortling happily.  
Aldariil glanced down to see the SnowDrake gaining on them rapidly before Menelaudh entered the thick morning fog lingering high above Angmar, which aided in casting the perpetual gloom over the place.  
She continued to fly onwards, obviously growing weary as her great flaps slowed, and Aldariil felt worry building in his chest.   
The heavy mist drifted visibly over the FireDrake’s wings as she glided for a moment, resting.   
“Menelaudh, I believe we should keep moving, my friend. I know you’re tired, but…something tells me to—“ Aldariil began, but he didn’t get to finish, for the SnowDrake rose up with startling speed from below Menelaudh with a roar, crashing against her chest and pushing her upwards.  
Aldariil screamed, a sound he hadn’t heard himself make in a long time, and felt himself grasping at nothing, Menelaudh’s smooth scales slipping away as he fell past.   
Lynndor attempted to grasp his arm, but she only managed to retrieve the 3 egg sacks, screaming his name.  
Hot blood splashed over both Elves, but Aldariil didn’t care who it had belonged to, briefly aware of Menelaudh clawing at her brother’s face and wings.  
With his free hand and both legs, Aldariil managed to grasp the snaking end of Menelaudh’s tail, even as she whipped it about for balance, desperately trying to right herself, and the force of it tore the Hatchling from Aldariil’s grip.   
Before he knew what he was doing, Aldariil catapulted free from the dragon’s tail, aware of Lynndor’s horrified screams, and turned himself until he was falling face-forward, making himself as straight as could to speed his descent, kicking his legs as if in water, but he knew the effort was useless.  
Finally, through the fog, he saw the Hatchling, wings spread helplessly from the force of the wind alone, fluttering and seeming as if they would break free from the dragon’s tiny body at any moment. It almost looked like a leaf, Aldariil thought, how it was spinning and flipping so violently, yet falling at a slower descent than he.   
He heard massive whooshes of air growing louder behind him, but he couldn’t turn his head. His eyes were nearly closed, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.   
Reptilian screams from both dragons seemed to be growing closer, and now Aldariil didn’t dare look back. He felt a sudden searing heat, but still saw nothing, hearing the fire literally blasting from both Drakes’ mouths, only praying to the Valar that he wouldn’t be harmed.  
It was in that brief moment of falling through the sky that Aldariil suddenly realized his situation. He, an Elf, was free-falling through the sky with two Dragons, as he attempted to rescue a Hatchling plummeting to its death, as if he could fly.   
He laughed to himself. He almost seemed more dragon than Elf.  
First, the Hatchling broke free from the fog, lit by the blazing morning sun, then an Elf, swiftly gaining on it, then a FireDrake, flapping her massive wings and flying directly at the ground, then a SnowDrake, glittering almost every color, as an opal, in the sunlight.  
Aldariil refused to focus on the ground, which was swiftly growing closer and closer, details becoming sickeningly clear, and he stretched out his arms, his fingers. They grasped the Hatchling securely, pulling it against his chest, and he curled in on himself, preparing uselessly for impact with the ground, mere seconds away.   
Menelaudh flew past him, turning upside beneath him and grasping him in her claws as she expertly swooped her course parallel with the flat ground, tiny pebbles rattling in the wind of her passing. She righted herself once more and continued flying, lowering her head to stare at Aldariil with horrified blue eyes, but the Elf was either dead or unconscious, his head lolling limply.   
She could see something squirming in his tunic against his chest, his arms wrapped about it, and she knew the Hatchling was safe for now.  
The SnowDrake was still behind her, so Menelaudh, despite her great exhaustion, pressed herself harder until she was leaving her brother behind, his infuriated roars growing distant until they faded entirely from hearing as she entered the mountainous region of the Trollshaws.   
Eventually, when she could fly no further, she glided slowly to the ground and landed as carefully as she could on a single foot, dropping Aldariil first, then allowing Lynndor to slide from her back with the eggs.  
When the Elves were safely out of the way, Menelaudh collapsed to the ground in exhaustion and fell asleep against her better will, telling herself she wouldn’t slumber long.  
~  
“Wake up!”   
Menelaudh raised her head in alarm to see that the sun was setting, but that didn’t concern her as much as Aldariil, who was beating against the scales of her chest and yelling at her.   
“What’s wrong?” she asked in horror, scanning the sky, but Aldariil only pointed.   
She followed his finger until she saw a pond, her brother lying limply within the water. His nostrils were still in the air, however, as the pond was not very deep, and his pale eyes were staring at them uncaringly.  
“Is he dead?” she asked nervously, but Aldariil shook his head, answering,  
“He only crashed moments ago while you were sleeping. I…Menelaudh, I…I don’t feel…evil confusion…or corruption anymore. He….He followed us.”  
Menelaudh didn’t either, in fact, the SnowDrake before her was staring at them in a sort of confusion.   
Several scales were torn free from his face, neck and wings, even though Menelaudh had escaped, for the most part, woundless.   
“Join your magic with mine,” Lynndor demanded, then quietly began reciting healing spells that Aldariil did not recognize, spells that battled witchcraft.  
Menelaudh, unsure of what to do, envisioned her own magic and power twining with the She-Elf’s, and, almost immediately, the SnowDrake’s eyes closed.  
Aldariil could hear Lynndor’s singsong voice behind him, could sense Menelaudh’s magnificent power being used, but he shut it out.  
Holding the healthy Hatchling in his arms, Aldariil DragonKin began taking slow, dreamlike steps forward until he was standing before the SnowDrake’s opalescent head.   
He stretched his trembling hand forward and laid it slowly against the glittering white scales, whispering,   
“Perhaps all you needed was to escape his witchcraft…to escape his hold…like Ali’.”   
He stilled his hand and allowed magic of his own to pulse through his fingertips, finishing,  
“We do not need to be enemies. You will come to find the love of a family, the forgiveness that awaits you…”  
Aldariil swallowed hard, his hand beginning to shake once more as the SnowDrake’s large, pale eyes opened abruptly, their slit pupils staring at him coldly, emptily.   
“Come free of what is holding your mind. You are yet young,” Aldariil whispered, then closed his eyes and concentrated every ounce of his power on the SnowDrake, feeling his knees grow weak and blackness envelope him once more.  
~~~


	15. Kin ~ Chapter 14

~ Nearly to the Misty Mountains…  
Alinor was riding beside her father, who had been very quiet of late since discovering she had withheld information from him of Aldariil’s attempted rescue of Drake eggs.  
He wasn’t angry with her, just disappointed.   
He seemed to have accepted that his Elflings were constantly running to danger.  
Today was the day that the forces of Imaldris were to meet with their Avari allies before crossing the Misty Mountains on their way to Lorien.   
Alinor and her friends had insisted that they pass through Moria, as she had become friends with Dis, daughter of Thror, but the Elven army as a whole, including Glorfindel and Elrond, had turned down the idea, to her dismay.  
She wasn’t looking forward to the cold of the valley passes further north of Moria.  
She looked up and stared at the approaching, towering peaks, nearly black in the early morning light.  
One night had passed since Aldariil and Menelaudh had flown from her, and her heart was sick with worry.  
Aldaraen didn’t have to speak for her to know that he felt the same.  
The roar of the galloping horses’ hooves, strengthened by Elvish magic, was all-encompassing, and Alinor felt a familiar surge of excitement at the thought that she was riding to battle.  
She looked to her right and met her husband’s gaze, the unmistakable glint of worry was there, caused by her routine nightmares and worry for her general health, but he smiled at her and blinked affectionately.  
She felt the urge to kiss him, but turned back and stared forward at Glorfindel’s back, leading the army with Elrond.  
They were making incredible time.  
Alinor’s mind began wandering to Garrik, wondering what her old companion was up to, whether he would call off the war…  
A large shadow passed over them, then another, and she heard a familiar roar.   
She looked up in confusion at the second shadow, but the sun was far too bright for her to make out much.  
She saw two figures astride a dragon and couldn’t help herself as she called to them happily, though she knew they wouldn’t hear her, and her brother raised his hand.   
Menelaudh flapped several times, mightily, pulling far ahead of the slowing army and beginning to descend, but Alinor was confused when she heard several of the soldiers beginning to yell and scream at them in alarm.  
She understood when a second, slightly larger Dragon flew overhead, scales white as snow, glinting in baby blues, pinks and greens in the sunlight.   
Her father’s reaction was immediate, his face paling and eyes growing very wide, but Alinor recognized immediately that this was not Khelekmin. It was far too young, and the way in which it flew past them did not suggest hostility, and she screamed this fact over her shoulder, hoping the soldiers behind her would pass it along.  
The SnowDrake landed far too soon, although he was beside Menelaudh, and the lead horses veered around it, still not at a complete stop from their full gallop.   
Alinor nearly fell from Forwen’s back when the mare merely skidded to a stop before the dragons, rearing high in the air. She didn’t seem too startled, as the other frantic horses, for Forwen was familiar with Menelaudh.  
Alinor immediately dismounted, hearing Elrohir call her name, but she ignored him, standing stoically, yet cautiously, before the SnowDrake, who exchanged a snuffle of muzzles with Menelaudh before staring down at her wearily.   
He truly looked exhausted.  
Alinor took a moment to soak in the magnificent scene before her; Menelaudh’s flawless ebony coloring, her icy blue gaze displaying no fear at all at this newcomer, her magnificent black wings slightly raised. The SnowDrake was no less beautiful, although he was missing several scales over his body. He had obviously battled with Menelaudh. His body glittered like an opal, refracting the light on his ivory scales, pale eyes showing worry, if anything.  
“Menelaudh…What is this?” Alinor asked cautiously, never taking her eyes from the SnowDrake even as Menelaudh lowered her head so the She-Elf could embrace her muzzle caringly.  
Menelaudh prepared to answer, but Aldariil and Lynndor appeared from around the FireDrake’s body, then, carrying several large sacks, and her brother answered,   
“Our newest ally. He escaped from witchcraft with the aid of our magic. I am sure that Lord Glorfindel and the Istari might aid him further.”  
Alinor swallowed, looking over her shoulder at the massive crowd of horses and Elven warriors behind her, swords drawn, expressions varying from horrified, to curious, to angry, and, as her father, Glorfindel and Elrond displayed, confusion.  
“Who are you?” Alinor addressed the Drake now and he raised his head slightly in the proud manner of dragons, answering slowly in a young, male voice,  
“I am called Hyansul, in your tongue, once deceived, but now set free, as you should understand, small sister.”  
Alinor was slightly surprised by the similar name given to her by Menelaudh, but Aldariil only beamed so largely that the dimples which he hated in his cheeks were visible for all to see.   
The name made sense when the SnowDrake turned his head to look at Menelaudh, who turned to face him, as well. Their profiles were nearly identical, and Alinor couldn’t help breaking into a wide smile of her own as he finished,   
“I am Hyansul, and I am Menelaudh’s nestmate…Her brother.”  
~  
~ Half an hour later…  
Lynndor was riding astride Bishuk once more, but this time, she had been summoned to the lead of the army, to her dismay.  
She was riding between Glorfindel and Elrond, their pace a slow canter as to give their steeds a rest.  
Alinor listened closely.  
“We cannot afford for that dragon to revert to his old ways!” Elrond exclaimed, and Lynndor only shook her head, replying,  
“I cannot guarantee that…Just as you cannot guarantee that Alinor will not slay your son in his sleep from re-possession of her mind by the fallen Maia. It is something you trust. You can see it in his eyes. He means no harm. He is confused. He is seeing the world for the first time in his life, you might say, as he has been in such abuse since he was a Hatchling. I, for one, would not so much be concerned with Hyansul as I would be with praying to the Valar that the Avari will be easily found and prepared for battle. Your allies, I mean.”  
Elrond glanced at Glorfindel and Aldaraen.   
Alinor was shocked when her father said,   
“Well…We already have entrusted the FireDrake with much. What difference does it make if we welcome her brother. They do not ask to be a part of our lives, so to speak…except perhaps my family’s, seeing as Menelaudh considers herself a member of it already.”  
He smiled, and Alinor looked down in pleasant surprise, shocked.  
She knew her father must have been doing some very, very heavy thinking.  
The lead Elves looked up as a menacing roar, to the untrained ear, echoed out through the hilly regions of the eastern Trollshaws.   
The dragon siblings were flying high in the sky, circling about one another in a joyous display.  
“You cannot argue with that,” Elrond sighed, then glanced at Gandalf as the young Wizard said,  
“I say give him a chance. You might need him more than you think.”  
Elrond had grown to like the blonde Istari with messy hair quite a lot, and he smiled at him when Gandalf met his grey gaze, adding,  
“When you open your doors to the world and leave your small haven of protection, it is amazing how much you find was merely a lie, an idea, conceived by years of storytelling and deceit.”  
Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, who was also looking at the Istari in curiosity, then the company raised their gazes once more to the heavens, watching the magnificent creatures soar through the clouds.  
Alinor couldn’t wait until night fell, when they would have to allow the horses to rest.   
Aldariil hadn’t showed her the eggs, and her curiosity was infuriating.  
Elrond called an order over his shoulder before spurring his mount back into a swift gallop, and the army followed as one, making their way swiftly towards the Misty Mountains.  
~~~  
When Sauron had been told what the source of the louder-than-usual ruckus from the Drakes had been caused by, he calmly visited the cavern beneath the fortress and had demanded of the Drakes there what exactly had happened and why it wasn’t stopped.  
They couldn’t answer him, and, in a rage, Sauron had unleashed pent anger and power, screaming to himself until he felt as if he would never hear again, lost in a blind vortex of rage, and, in the end of it all, one of the Mountain-Drakes had been slain.  
He hadn’t cared, had just walked furiously from the cavern.   
The Elves and that black dragon had done it once again, and, in the deepest shadows of the fortress as he sat brooding in fury, the Maia knew that he would not feel avenged, would not feel satisfied, until he had slain each and every one of the trouble-makers.   
But the She-Elf, Alinor, would be his, answering his call at his whim, yet holding the corrupting, debilitating power of the One Ring in her own hand. Her mind was powerful and withheld, and he wanted that. He wanted to harness that power, and he had been very close, indeed.  
Better yet, he would bring about justice by her own hand.  
And what a beautiful thing that would be to witness.  
~~~  
The army was galloping again and Aldaraen, for the first time in his life, could not feel his arse.   
He regretted the terms they had given Earathran, to join the Imladris forces this day.  
He could only hope that the Avari would show, that Earathran, Eardaneth’s son, would pull through.  
The army of High-Elves was galloping across a wide plain, their horses’ necks stretching forward at the adrenalin of the long run.   
Elven armies were known for moving swiftly.  
Everything was silent except for the snorts of the horses and the thundering of their many hooves. The dragons were silent, flying high above them, Alinor and Aldariil, his Elflings, somewhere in the skies above with them.  
Aldaraen sighed, still unbelieving of his son’s mission. He had been badly wounded, but his spirit was glowing in a way that his father had never seen.   
Suddenly, above the roaring of the horses’ hooves, Aldaraen heard a single, shrill note, like a long whistle.   
The other Elves heard it, as well, but the Men and the Istari seemed oblivious.   
It took a moment, but Aldaraen immediately recognized the call from Ardryll’s training in Mirkwood.   
The Eldar never slowed their steeds, but every Elven gaze was glued to the valley they were running alongside.   
A single rider, clad entirely in black but for a blue scarf knotted about his arm, rose from the valley, his steed gleaming black as the Elf’s hair and clothing.  
It brought a habitual tension to Aldaraen, but he reminded himself that they were in an alliance with these Elves. They were uncorrupted…Like Garrik had been.  
Suddenly, the entire valley seemed to be filled with riders emerging from the depression in the ground, and the army of Imladris stared at their allies, whose own steeds were running parallel to their own.   
The Avari didn’t use saddles, didn’t have any tack on their horses at all, Aldaraen noticed, and the way that the only color visible on their bodies was the blue scarf, he knew, to differentiate them from their fallen comrades, made the scene almost magical.  
The Avari were larger and more heavily built than the High-Elves, but they retained a grace, all the same.  
The Avari riders began swerving in their direction, dirt flying up from their horses’ hooves, growing closer and closer until Aldaraen was nearly astride with the leaders.   
He could see the whites of their eyes, and when the Avari leader met his gaze and pulled his facial mask down, Aldaraen was surprised to see a rather young Elf, smiling at him. It must be the Elf Earathran had called Itryd.   
He looked over his shoulder to see the strangest sight in his life; The Avari riders beginning to merge with the Imladris riders, not in battle, but in comradeship.   
A second Avari pulled swiftly between he and Elrond, and Aldaraen stared at him in surprise when he was greeted not with black eyes, but glowing sapphire eyes, startling, dressed in the black uniform. When Aldaraen noticed the strands of auburn hair curling out from the black hood, and then the Elf pulled down his own facial covering, he realized it was Earathran in Avari uniform, and he stared at him in surprise.  
Aldaraen felt a strange sense of empowerment as the different races of the Eldar joined to battle against darkness, and he smiled, despite himself, looking forward and fully accepting the Avari present in his mind, wordlessly.   
Times were changing in Arda, and they were changing for the better.   
~~~  
~ That night…  
Alinor sat near the campfire with Raebidus, Aldariil, Haldir, Earathran, and Athey, Earathran’s new companion from Enedwaith, it seemed.  
They were all staring in awe as Aldariil handled the Hatchling lovingly, feeding it ground up fish from the river.  
“The other eggs haven’t hatched yet. Perhaps in the next few days we shall see them born,” Aldariil was saying, and Raebidus nodded in affirmation.   
Alinor looked up as her husband sat down heavily, wearily, beside her, and she kissed his cheek lovingly, whispering, “What’s the matter, my love?”  
“Tired,” he replied with a small smile, then wrapped his arm about her waist to pull her against him in a hug, letting her head rest on his shoulder.  
Aldariil watched inconspicuously. He still couldn’t believe that the couple had fallen in love, much less wed, but it made his heart glad.  
The Hatchling began to squeal and Alinor looked up with a small smile when Menelaudh’s head rose abruptly from the darkness behind Aldariil to look down protectively at the infant. Her tail was wrapped snuggly around the remaining 3 eggs, tucked against her chest, keeping them warm.   
“Sh, little one, all is well,” Aldariil said warmly, rubbing his finger on its pink belly that had already darkened in color, and Alinor smiled at the sight, her little brother acting as a father.   
She couldn’t wait to see him wed with Elflings that she could spoil…  
The thought hit her like a wall; But what of Elflings of her own? To the Valar, she was already wed, something she never thought she would accomplish when she was much more young. The idea had completely voided her mind for the last several weeks, months. She knew the idea had touched Elrohir’s mind, as well, for she felt his loving gaze on her head. She looked up at him and was immediately melted by the care she saw there, and nuzzled her head wearily into his chest, her husband kissing her head.   
She decided not to think on the matter at the moment, but she could feel Elrohir’s presence on the matter, as well.   
The last thing they needed was a child in a time of war. The grief exacted on the widow of a slain spouse was horrifically tragic for an Elf, the parent usually neglecting their child in their grief, and Alinor couldn’t imagine doing that to an Elfling.   
It made her admiration for her father grow.  
The Hatchling yawned, making the ring of warriors all murmur “Aww” in union, before the creature curled into a ball and settled in Aldariil’s warm lap.   
“The next generation of Arda’s warriors, mooning over a dragon babe,” Glorfindel’s voice was deep and the younger Elves looked up at him as he appeared in the firelight’s circle, but he wore a smile.  
“He is precious,” Aldariil wouldn’t, couldn’t, take his eyes form the Hatchling, and Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, replying,  
“He? Well, now. Does he have a name?”  
“Not yet. He is too young. I must give him a proper name in time,” Aldariil responded, and Menelaudh raised her head once more, her brother’s appearing beside her, as well, and Glorfindel looked up at them warily.  
“The genders of dragon eggs are usually equally divided, the male having the upperhand, so to speak. So, as my nestmates and I, there were 3 of us, so two males and a female. I am willing to wager that there will be one more male and two females in the remaining eggs,” Menelaudh said, and Glorfindel laughed, exclaiming,  
“Since when did dragons wager?”   
Hyansul answered, then, his wit swift, and he said, “Since Elves assumed all Drakes were dumb and evil.”  
Glorfindel shrugged, but didn’t respond.  
Finally, the aged warrior said, “Are you prepared for battle, young ones?”  
The Elves nodded and Glorfindel finished, “It is odd, seeing you gathered here. The next generation of Arda’s heroes, the battles fought by your forefathers now carried on by their offspring…We have company.”  
His final sentence surprised the Elves, and they followed his gaze to see two silhouettes appear on the crest of the hill, lit by the full moon’s light.  
Alinor waited for her eyes to adjust to the darker light, but she recognized Eardaneth and Yaeran almost immediately.   
Their horses’ flanks were heaving as if they had just completed a hard ride.   
Glorfindel raised his hand to Maedhros’ sons, who immediately seemed to weary as recognition came to them, and then urged their mounts down the hill towards them, alone.  
“This does not seem promising,” Glorfindel murmured, then chuckled to himself and finished, “As always, I too swiftly judge the line of Feanor.”   
Row after row of riders wearing familiar Mirkwood uniforms began appearing at the crest of the hill and descending after Yaeran and Maedhros.   
“I do not see Uncle Thran’, but…They did it,” Aldariil whispered in awe, and Glorfindel only smiled, striding towards the two tall figures as they entered the camp, replying,  
“Did you expect any different, Son of Aldaraen?”  
~~~  
Alinor ducked into the tent she was sharing with Elrohir and smiled when she saw her husband already lying on his side, eyes closed peacefully.  
“You are so tired, my love,” she slid onto the blanket beside him and nuzzled into his warmth, smiling when he slit his eyes at her.  
“Was that your stomach that growled?” he asked with a small grin, and Alinor nodded, answering,  
“I’m hungry, but I will wait to eat until tomorrow. Get your sleep, my StarRider.”  
“And you yours, my SkyDancer,” he whispered, then kissed her goodnight and rested his head in her pooling golden hair, finishing, “Are you prepared for war?”  
“More than prepared,” she laughed softly, then kissed her husband’s nose and closed her eyes, allowing slumber to take over her mind.


	16. Kin ~ Chapter 15

Raebidus watched as the last of the Elves strode away from the fire ring that he and Aldariil still occupied until turning to the young Elf, asking, “May I hold him?”  
Aldariil began to extend the Hatchling, answering, “Of course, my friend. Are you not tired?”  
“I have more interest in the Drakes,” the red-haired Man smiled, and he took the small dragon from the Elf’s hands, holding it carefully.  
Aldariil leaned backwards until he could retrieve one of the eggs from Menelaudh, holding it in his lap and tracing it lightly with his fingertips.   
“You are a strong fellow, aren’t you?” Raebidus asked softly when the Hatchling began squirming in his hold, and he laughed when the small animal began flapping its paper--thin wings, like a bird.   
“I thought I was going to die, Raebidus,” Aldariil said abruptly, and the Man looked up in surprise at the young Elf, who seemed very troubled now that the others had departed.  
“I would be concerned had you not been frightened,” Raebidus said with a small smile, and he reached out to ruffle the young Elf’s hair, finishing, “But you succeeded against odds so far stacked against you that you should be very proud. You did it not in an act of war, but an act of love, desiring to rescue those lesser than yourself. That is something to be proud of, indeed.”  
Aldariil smiled at him lop-sidedly, though he remained quiet for a small time, gazing at the Man before asking gently, “Do you miss Garrik, Rae’?”  
“With all my heart,” Raebidus answered with a sigh, and averted his gaze to the fire, “He had such a pure heart, and I feel responsible for leaving him alone in a place of hate, in a time of strife.”  
“Now whatever has deceived the Avari before him has taken hold of his heart, as well,” Aldariil said lowly, but Raebidus replied quickly,  
“Aye, but there is still hope for him, DragonKin. Look at our new allies, who so remind me of my little brother.” Raebidus stared out at the Avari Elves mingling shyly with the High and Silvan Elves, obviously working past old grievances.   
“He would have loved this,” Aldariil frowned, “I miss him.”  
“He is on the wrong side,” Raebidus finished, then handed the Hatchling back to Aldariil when its squirming grew worse, the infant almost immediately settling down, back in familiar hands.  
“You are the son of Raebdon,” Hyansul’s glittering white head suddenly appeared beside Raebidus, and the Man watched him warily, replying,  
“Yes.”  
“The wisdom of my father was passed to Menelaudh and I, and I recognized you,” Hyansul said simply, then added, “After Raebdon, you are his only child. Your bond is closest with us… you just have not opened your mind to us. Our power could be great.”  
“And I do not need to. Aldaraen’s children are quite enough individuals to get involved with your magic. I also have no desire to make myself strongly known to your father, who is yet deceived in Angmar, scarred by grief and witchcraft. I do not wish to serve as a “tracking system”, so to speak, and neither does the lad’s father,” Raebidus indicated Aldariil before finishing, “I have no desire to open my mind to you.”  
“I was not asking, merely enjoying the thought that a single generation later, we are once again united,” Hyansul answered, then withdrew his head.   
“Sleep well, Elf-Friend,” Aldariil smiled at Raebidus, standing and stretching his lean body with a yawn, “I am actually quite weary after Lynndor’s and mine adventure. I will be sleeping with the Drakes.”  
Raebidus smiled his farewell and watched with a hint of jealousy as the young Elf retreated past the massive tails of the Fire and SnowDrake, becoming lost from sight with the eggs and Hatchling.  
He wished with all his heart that he could bond with them, but he was far too frightened of opening their location to any sort of danger, should Khelekmin feel a draw to him.   
With a sigh, he waved at Menelaudh, who closed her great eye in response, and retreated, making his way to his makeshift bed beside the fire.  
~~~  
~ 2 days later…  
The sun was setting by the time the army arrived at Lothlorien, not passing directly through the Elven city, but making their way around it, enjoying the beauty of the golden leaves and pale bark, the decorated trees rustling in the slight wind and making the beads rattle.  
Their horses seemed to grow very quiet in the majesty of the place, and one would never had known an army was passing by below them unless you had looked.  
Several Elves peered down at them from their high abodes, some they met in the forest walking beside them a short way to ask questions.  
Alinor could see Haldir searching for his brothers in vain and she hoped that they would run into them.   
The army settled about the outskirts of the city for the night, the horses drinking from the river, but sensing some sort of strong magic there, avoiding the body of water unless necessary.  
Alinor sat on a stone a small distance away from Glorfindel, Elrond, Itryd, Eardaneth, Yaeran, Elladan, Elrohir, and Aldaraen, listening as the respective leaders of each division of Elves conversed with one another, examining a map closely.  
“Being that there were no Avari at Mirkwood, according to Thranduil and floating rumors, I believe that the Avari will be traveling on foot to meet their larger counterpart north. We have been making incredible time by pushing the steeds, no doubt, but I think the Avari might have a lead on us,” Eardaneth said calmly, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the map before them, and Itryd, the only other Elf present that stood almost a head above the others but still not as tall as Eardaneth, interjected softly,  
“I remember hearing talk of their Dark Lord wishing to grow his forces in witchcraft in Angmar.”  
“Yes,” Elrond said somewhat in humor, that having been quite a known topic for a while now, but Itryd continued, pointing at the marking that indicated the corrupted Avari far north in the Misty Mountains, saying,  
“But to get to Angmar, there are no passable routes through the Misty Mountains. They will be forced to travel south in our direction, giving us more time to catch up and not miss them.”  
“Really?” Yaeran looked at Elrond, who would know the passages better than they, and the Imladris Elf stared down at the map thoughtfully before answering.  
“I believe the Avari is correct. They, of course, will not pass through Moria. Besides the passage we have just arrived from, there are very few other passable routes, even for an Elf, much less an entire army,” he said, looking at his twins, who nodded their agreement.  
Elrohir looked up and met his wife’s eyes, still very serious, before seeming to actually see her and he smiled gently before Elrond addressed them again.  
“Are you scared for him?” Haldir asked Alinor, and his closest friend sighed, replying,  
“I am, Haldir. But I will protect him, as I know he will me.”  
“It seems as though we have company. I hope I am not scolded,” Haldir said, and Alinor looked up from her hands as Lindir, whom Elrond had sent as escort, came down the path leading from Lorien, Celeborn and Galadriel behind him.  
Martulias had been left in Rivendell.  
“Don’t go just yet,” she said to her friend, and Haldir nodded, sitting back down.  
The warriors lowered themselves appropriately, although, Alinor couldn’t help but notice, Yaeran and Eardaneth more or less bowed their heads in a slow nod, a small tension breathing itself into existence between them and the Noldor.  
Alinor couldn’t hear the softly spoken words, but she watched Galadriel gently touch the faces of her tall grandsons, asking after his new wife, and kissed her daughter’s husband’s cheek.  
Celeborn was at the map, listening to Yaeran explain their objective, while Galadriel continued her discussion with her family.  
“I ought to go,” Haldir said and stood, making his way towards the Elves that took him under their wing when his parents had been killed in his Elflinghood.  
“Haldir,” Galadriel seemed significantly relieved when the young Elf reached her, embracing him lightly and kissing his cheek, “We thought you would have arrived sooner.”  
“I wish to stand beside my friends in battle, my lady,” he said hesitantly, “It rests better in my heart than returning to peace and leaving them to their fates.”  
“Of course. Your brothers are much like you, loved one. Their argument was too powerful for Celeborn and I to decline,” Galadriel smiled, and gestured behind them as Rumil and Orophin cantered mounts from the trees, followed by many uniformed Lorien Elves, dressed in silver.  
“You would aid us?” Elrohir asked in slight astonishment, and Celeborn nodded slowly, answering the younger Elf,  
“The brothers are most convincing, and your cause is just.”  
Haldir smiled and trotted after his brothers, waiting for them to dismount until grasping them both in close embraces.  
“I believe this is the finest variety of Elves that Middle-Earth has seen in quite a long time,” Celeborn chuckled, observing what he could see of the army past the trees, and Yaeran shared his laugh softly, agreeing,  
“Indeed.”  
“Your brother refused his aid?” Galadriel looked to Aldaraen now, who seemed the weariest of all, his usually bright sapphire eyes quite dark, his aura feeling withdrawn, and he nodded sadly, replying,  
“He is intent on traveling north alone to assault the Avari himself. If anything, he might make matters worse or we will meet him along the path, hopefully avoiding his anger.”  
“He was indeed grieved badly by his loss, a wife and a daughter,” Galadriel nodded sympathetically, and Aldaraen sighed, walking slowly towards the trees to join the army and leaving the others to discuss matters with the protectors of Lothlorien.  
Alinor ran after her father to fall in beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist lovingly and leaning against him, glad when he returned the gesture affectionately.  
~~~  
After several days of promising high awards to Avari that would aid him in reclaiming the leadership position in their army, Maellang was unpleasantly surprised to see that he held no support.  
The Avari were so blindly loyal… at least, to Garrik.  
He had decided that he would take care of the boy himself.   
He spent more than an hour sharpening a dagger before watching Garrik go about his duties, waiting until he would wander into the trees alone.  
When he saw his chance, he slipped away after him soundlessly, drawing his weapon from his belt.   
It would be very easy; Find Garrik, overpower him with witchcraft, and slit his throat.  
He chuckled at the simplicity of it.   
The rush of adrenalin began to die when Maellang couldn’t find Garrik at all, slinking through the trees after the much younger Avari for several minutes now, and he began to feel agitated.  
He was distracted by the sound of Orcs returning from the river with fish, and he jumped, startled, when he heard something land in the fallen leaves behind him.   
Garrik had dropped from the tree, it seemed, and he stared at Maellang with a tilted head, smiling slightly as if in some sort of victory.  
“You are more Wood-Elf than you ever will be Avari,” Maellang hissed, holding the dagger warily, but Garrik didn’t seem frightened, not looking at the weapon as he answered,  
“I have the best of both worlds, Maellang. Now tell me, why do you stalk me into the forest at night as prey, carrying a dagger?”  
“Because you are no King. You are not fully loyal to the Dark Lord’s cause,” Maellang snapped angrily, and didn’t wait for Garrik to answer, lashing out with a powerful spell that should have incapacitated the youth, but he was shocked when he felt calculated resistance, the younger Avari smiling.  
“You see, I was once taught in the basics of magic, myself…How to defend myself, anyway,” Garrik said dismissively, “I see your intentions are murderous.”  
He ducked with the swiftness of a snake when Maellang lashed the dagger forward, nearly cutting his throat, and drove himself into the Elf’s stomach, carrying them both off their feet and onto the ground.  
Garrik could hear the blood roaring in his ears, but he focused on keeping the other Elf pinned, wrenching the dagger from his hand, old training techniques flooding back to him like instinct.  
Along with the trained memories came a scratching thought of a golden-haired Elf teaching him outside a farmhouse…but the situation drove the memory from his mind when Maellang bucked beneath him.  
Garrik nearly lost his grip, but he twisted an arm behind Maellang’s back, making the Elf yell in anger.   
“You fight like a Man!” he practically screamed in pained fury, and Garrik smiled down at him, replying quietly,  
“Yes, I’ve been told that before.”  
He let the dagger rest on Maellang’s throat and the elder Elf grew still, snarling,   
“If you kill me, you do not know how to strengthen the spell that keeps these Elves in servitude. You would ruin ALL. Your loyalty is still as confused as your mind!”  
“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” Garrik growled angrily, then added in mock thoughtfulness, “You would murder the Elf appointed King over the Dark Lord’s Elven forces and recruit others into your mutiny. That does not seem very loyal to me.”  
Maellang remained silent, glaring up at him hatefully, and Garrik finished slowly,  
“I cannot spend my days looking over my shoulder in fear of attack, nor can any of my Elves. I will not allow you to circumvent our rise to equality and power within Middle-Earth at the cost of innocent lives. Best of luck, Maellang.”  
He made a single, swift motion of his hand before dropping Maellang’s limp body on the ground, resting in a growing puddle of crimson, and turned his back swiftly to return to the camp.  
Something felt simultaneously very wrong and very right of what he had just done, but he didn’t care.  
Many Elves died in battle, and Maellang was no different.  
Something felt lighter about his mind already, and he strode towards the other Avari who greeted him with small smiles and nods of respect before carrying on their duties, paying no mind as their King wiped blood from his blade in the folds of his tunic.  
Garrik wondered how long it would be until the Elves noticed Maellang’s absence…  
If they even did.  
~~~


	17. Kin ~ Chapter 16

“The She-Elf knows too much! She keeps it from her mind, yes, but her mind is powerful, strong…There is much she could turn against us! She needs to be killed!”  
Khelekmin watched intently as the small, black-clad figure of Sauron paced back in forth along the cavern wall, furiously shouting curses, primarily aimed at Alinor, the daughter of the Elf he had accidentally imprinted upon, the kindred spirit he had never again touched…   
He wondered briefly if Alinor’s heart was any less wild as her father’s, but, by the sound of it, it didn’t seem so.  
“Did you hear me?! She needs to be killed!”   
Sauron’s roared statement brought Khelekmin out of his thoughts, ashamed to feel his great dragon heart leap in apprehension.   
He knew that Sauron more than likely could kill him in a duel of magic, and the SnowDrake had no desire to find out.  
“Do you not have any words of advice?” Sauron demanded, pausing to stare fearlessly into the single pale eye gazing back at him coldly.  
“Is killing a She-Elf really such a difficult thing?” he asked with a hint of mockery in his tone, and he knew that it was taken as such, for Sauron continued to stare at him calculatingly, as if pondering his worth.  
“I desired her mind to serve me,” was all he hissed, then visibly swallowed some form of violence as he pulled his black hood over his head, concealing his burning amber eyes from sight.   
Khelekmin stared after him hatefully, hateful of how he was lowered to him in servitude, hateful of how he was treated like a plain beast, hateful of how he must answer blindly to the Necromancer’s call when his mind was stolen from him…  
As if summoned, a bleakness began wrapping about his mind and Khelekmin sighed heavily like a large, aged hound, slumping back to the ground and slitting his eyes.  
He watched as Sauron began to disappear from his sight, his newest weapon, the gleaming, curved blade of Alinor, once belonging to her mother, stolen from her during her stay, bouncing against his thigh.   
If the She-Elf was anything like her sire, she would be furious at its loss…  
He snorted once before allowing sleep to take him.  
~~~  
Day by day, the mounted army of Elves drew closer to the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains. They had nearly reached the final pass north to cross through the mountains, the only survivable path to Angmar, and their leaders were pleased that they still seemed to be ahead of their enemies.  
The army was encamped for the night, allowing their hard-pressed steeds to rest, and Alinor finally forced herself to cease from her fascinated mothering of the Hatchling and remaining eggs, walking through the mixed troops and searching for her friend, Haldir.  
Elrohir hugged her tightly from behind, startling her, but she giggled when he kissed her lovingly in the neck, her husband asking,  
“And where are you off to, Melamin? You seem to be in search of blood.”  
“Only your own,” she growled playfully, tugging his pointed ear gently before feeling watched, and she stepped away from him, smoothing her uniform with a smile and finishing, “Walk with me? I search for Haldir.”  
Elrohir nodded and took her hand, walking with her slowly.  
They passed through a small knot of black-clad Avari, sapphire scarves about their arms, who were laughing happily with a few Silvan Elves in their own Mirkwood uniform.   
It was such an ironic sight that Alinor had to pause and gaze upon it a moment.   
One of the Avari, a young Elf, glanced up at her and smiled a greeting, and his deep black eyes and crinkled nose immediately reminded her of Garrik.  
Her heart twisted in the familiar sensation of guilt and sadness, a hint of anger at his loss making her cheeks warm.   
She still vividly remembered how his lightly freckled face had always beamed at her in perfectly happy contentment, a cup of tea always seeming to be steaming in his hands with her mother, Faerlin, teaching him the ways of his Race. If only she had known the intensity of his fancy for her, if she had not ignored his attention in the midst of her own thoughts, perhaps she could have aided him…  
The expression of hate and betrayal he had worn upon their meeting in the woods when his switched allegiance and obviously poisoned heart had become apparent still haunted her.   
Alinor’s breath caught in her throat in a quiet, pained gasp, and Elrohir’s hand touched her cheek lightly, worriedly.  
She met his concerned grey gaze, his love for her burning there and making her heart melt in his comfort. He cared for her so much and for a moment, she felt utterly protected as he enfolded her in his strong arms.   
She was glad, in the end, that she had not followed Garrik’s lead. She would never have known Elrohir’s love, which was true and pure, the one the Valar had always destined her to find.  
“I love you, frightened one. You shall be strong once more,” he whispered, to her surprise, and she pressed her face more securely into his chest, answering,  
“I love you too. I am sorry for my fear.”  
~~~  
~ A few days later…  
“I believe that we have succeeded in beating our Avari enemies to the final pass through the Misty Mountains. Now, before we meet them in battle, I, for one, would like to achieve the element of surprise,” Glorfindel said, tapping his finger for emphasis on the map the head-most Elves were examining.  
“I agree, and the answer is quite simple, really,” Eardaneth agreed, “We have a surprise for the Avari that I’m sure not many will expect is coming.”  
“The two Drakes?” Yaeran asked his younger brother, and Eardaneth nodded, replying,  
“Not only would the Avari NOT be looking Drakes, but far up in the sky, our scouts would go unnoticed. Aldariil would ride Menelaudh as her companion, of course.”  
“And what of Hyansul?” Elrond asked.  
“Does he really need a rider?” Aldaraen asked doubtfully, surprised when he realized how much he had accepted his son as a rider of Drakes.  
“I would prefer there be two pair of Elven eyes on duty, taking notes. I am not downplaying the Drakes’ intelligence… I just know that they cannot draw marks on a map,” Eardaneth smiled, and Glorfindel nodded in dismissive understanding, stating,  
“So Menelaudh and Aldariil shall pair. Do we know any bold, young Elf that might take up Hyansul?”   
Eardaneth ran many eligible Elves through his mind until he found the energetic half-Avari, half-Silvan Elf that had already experienced burns of his own.   
Before he considered the implications, he suggested, “Athey?”  
“Athey?” Itryd repeated in surprise, smiling slightly, “I suppose young eyes are sharpest, but that lad wouldn’t know if his head was on backwards. Undoubtedly, he would be thrilled to find himself astride a Drake, but…he is quite light in spirit.”  
“He is expendable,” Eardaneth snorted in jest, and he clapped his hands together in finality, finishing, “Our new scouts, Aldariil and Athey, astride the Drake siblings. May the Valar save us all in this necessity.”   
~~~


	18. Kin ~ Chapter 17

Elrohir watched his wife as she slowly leveled her sword away from her, the blade he had crafted after she had lost her mother’s straight and steady in her hand. She stared down it’s gleaming length with narrowed emerald eyes until she seemed satisfied.   
“I am not a cheap craftsman, you know,” he said teasingly and she raised an eyebrow at him, nodding to his own weapon.   
“Let me test its strength. It is not as perfectly weighted for me as my mother’s sword that Ada crafted, but this is a fine blade in its own right,” she said.   
Elrohir lifted his weapon and she immediately struck his sword with a blow of such unexpected ferocity that he nearly lost his grip. His arms hurt from the force of it but he grinned at Alinor, exclaiming,  
“You could’ve warned me!”  
“I’m preparing you for battle,” she giggled apologetically, and he shook his head, answering,  
“I’ve seen far more battle than you, I would guess, my love. You are the one who should be preparing your mind.” He tapped her forehead affectionately.  
“No matter to me,” she said dismissively, something he had grown accustomed to, and she sheathed her weapon in her belt, striding away towards Aldariil, who was gently massaging the Hatchling’s wings.  
Elrohir adored her spirit, and her ferocity and fire of heart had been one of the many things he had fallen in love with, but he did miss seeing her in a simple gown, safe in a grove of trees and not running to war…  
He sighed and watched until she had reached her brother, who allowed the Hatchling to wobble into his sister’s hands.   
He noticed her skin was paler than normal, and it reminded him of her father, Aldaraen.  
“Do you wonder also on her health?”   
Elrohir looked to his shoulder in surprise, having not heard Gandalf approach him, and he stammered for a moment before replying,  
“Yes, I—I…feel that there is some fear ever shadowing her heart, and it makes me sad, for I knew her before her grief.”  
“You and I share Maia blood, so you feel her pain, someone you love dearly, quite vividly, I would imagine,” Gandalf answered, looking closely at the young Elf beside him.  
“Will she ever heal?” Elrohir asked softly, and Gandalf sighed and offered a small smile, replying,  
“I believe her fear gives Sauron dominion of her dreams. She is healed, but I believe you should be asking, will she ever overcome her fear?”  
Elrohir looked at the ground, thinking on the young Istari’s words, but when he looked up to ask the Grey Wizard a question, Gandalf was striding towards the Elven siblings and the Hatchling.  
The Hatchling froze and tilted its head, watching him approach warily, but Gandalf merely removed his pointed hat and dropped it playfully over the young animal, which squealed in surprise. He sat down beside Aldariil, laughing with him, and proceeded to talk with the young Elves.  
“There was something more wrought upon your young wife than witchcraft alone, StarRider.”  
Saruman’s much deeper voice made Elrohir turn again, and he smiled at the dark-haired Wizard, greeting him,  
“Why am I so special on this day to be entertained by the Istari?”  
“I do not jest. I’ve spent many long years observing Alinor in her youth, and when she was ever harmed, she came out of her pain within days. The discovery of your own powers saved her from the black magic that held her body in a nightmare-state, but I believe there is something more that she does not discuss,” Saruman said, staring seriously into Elrohir’s grey eyes, “The Necromancer desired her for something more than just to break her mind for the fun of it. There was a reason, for Sauron is no fool, as we all know too well.”  
“She…she has nightmares. She struggles against herself and cries out in the night,” Elrohir said slowly, glancing back at his wife again, who was busy examining a Drake egg and conversing with Menelaudh, “She grasps her finger and demands that ‘it is mine’.”  
“What is hers?” Saruman pressed gently, but Elrohir felt an underlying panic in the tone. He didn’t particularly mind. Saruman seemed to be the wisest of the Istari, sent by the Valar, and he trusted his judgement.  
“I do not speak of it with her, but…she cries out about a ring,” Elrohir swallowed hard and Saruman pressed his lips together as if assured.  
“If this is truly the case, perhaps Sauron knows that the Ring is not loyal to a Master of any kind. Perhaps Alinor was a precaution…she would wield the Ring, yet answer to him, a clever trick,” the Istari said, stroking his growing beard thoughtfully, and Elrohir stared at him in confusion.  
“You believe she speaks of a ring crafted by Sauron’s demand?” Elrohir felt panic rising in his chest at the implication he was beginning to understand, but Saruman put a gentle hand on his arm and answered,  
“Peace, young one. Perhaps she suffers from desire alone, which calls to her and causes her mind to dwell on dark matters, of which it should not. She is not greedy, no, but the power to do whatever one wishes, especially once experienced, is an addicting power, indeed. The power to save one’s family, the power to dictate your own life…they are all desires that we all would strive to satiate. If Alinor has experienced such control, perhaps, for the wildness of her heart, it spoke to her in such a way that she must battle against her own desire to own such a thing as a Ring of Power. Thus is the repeated story of our history.”  
Saruman left then, glimpsing almost contemptuously at Gandalf as he passed, but the young Wizard didn’t seem to notice.   
The thought that Alinor, his spouse, had potentially wielded a Ring of Power, a thing rumored of in the darkest places of Middle-Earth, made Elrohir’s heart sick with worry.   
Looking at her now, her bright smile as she laughed, the Hatchling clambering onto her head and then carefully onto Menelaudh’s nose, made her fear seem so distant, but, Elrohir knew, when the sun had set and all were slumbering, she would be plagued by a dark power he did not yet understand, for, most times, the evilest things in our world occur in the darkest hours of the night.  
~~~  
Eardaneth felt a strange pride as he observed his son, appearing more slender than usual in his black uniform, blue kerchief about his neck.   
Earathran was standing about with Itryd and a group of Avari, laughing as they shared some joke with one another.   
His father felt as if it had been a mere day in the past when he had watched him stumble about with his twin brother, Darnuigar.   
The thought of his dead son, brought about in rage by his own hand, made his heart twist in pain. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Valar had set some curse on the family of Kin-Slayers.   
Earathran was very tall, like his father, and his father’s father before him, his gleaming auburn hair braided expertly in Mirkwood fashion, and his smiling sapphire eyes gleamed in the firelight.   
Eardaneth sighed when he caught sight of Athey speaking with his son amiably, the half-Silvan, half-Avari Elf excitedly sharing the news of his assignment to Hyansul. It made him think again on Earathran’s Avari wife, Endel, and their expected child. He was curious what it would look like, and whether they would need any help in the raising, along with Ruvven.  
He felt the hair on his arms prickle instinctively when two, deep ‘booms’ shook the ground beneath his feet, and he knew that somewhere behind him in the rocky valley, the two Drake siblings had landed, perhaps after a hunt.  
He heard their impossibly heavy steps making their way slowly towards the Elves, their surprisingly young, human-esque voices beginning to become clearer.   
“Why does he not share his mind with us? We would be so powerful,” Hyansul’s voice asked, sounding slightly irritated.  
The dragoness’ feminine voice answered him, saying, “I know not. I think that he is frightened that Khelekmin would track us here and attack…or something of the sort.”  
“They have never shared their minds. I don’t understand how a bond, for being Raebdon’s son, would be so dangerous, when they have never shared minds before,” Hyansul sounded suspicious of something and Eardaneth didn’t know what, but he quickly made himself unseen when he saw glittering black and white scales sliding amongst the trees.  
“Perhaps he wishes to be extra cautious?” Menelaudh’s words once again proved her youth, and Eardaneth had to smile at the thought of the magnificent drakes being adolescents.  
“I do not know, sister…But I only wish that Raebidus would open his mind. We would be quite powerful, and I’m sure that our joined magics would be formidable enough to conceal our presence from our corrupted father,” Hyansul replied, “Unless there is some secret he wishes to hide from us.”  
“Not Raebidus,” Menelaudh said slowly.  
The two drakes were silent after that, so Eardaneth took his leave carefully, glancing over his shoulder.  
He couldn’t help feeling like prey, as if the massive creatures were crouched somewhere silently behind him, watching him with unblinking, reptilian eyes.  
“SeaGaze! I would have a word!” Yaeran’s voice brought him from his thoughts, calming his growing unease, “We need to discuss our two newest scouts for the morrow!”  
Eardaneth comforted himself with his trust in Alinor and Aldariil. They were friends with Menelaudh and her brother…close friends…so he was quite sure the drakes would not turn on them.  
He was worried, however, about the Hatchlings.   
Somewhere in Angmar, there were two MountainDrakes that were sure to discover an empty nest sooner or later…right?   
He didn’t know the familial habits of Drakes, anyway.  
He cast the troubling thoughts from his mind and approached his elder brother, allowing his calming, quiet voice to soothe his restless heart.  
~~~


	19. Kin ~ Chapter 18

“Where are my eggs!”  
The deafening roar from above, a mixture of fury and pain, barely made Khelekmin flinch, and he only growled in irritation deep in his chest to himself.   
He had known this was coming for a long time.  
Small pebbles shook on the cavern floor when the owner of the booming voice landed heavily on the ground before him.  
“What happened, Khelekmin!? I know that you saw!”   
Khelekmin was old, and the drake before him was in his prime, an irritating, bold age, and the SnowDrake sighed through his nose.  
Slowly, he began to right himself, lifting his elegant, opalescent neck, unfolding his wings to stand, displaying his full size, until he was eye-level with the magnificent Mountain-Drake crouched challengingly before him.  
Torgin was the only Drake Khelekmin knew that challenged him in size. The massive Mountain-Drake was a dirty, rusty color, eyes a burning golden hue, his head standing slightly taller than the great SnowDrake.  
This didn’t particularly bother Khelekmin, for he knew that Snow and FireDrakes were usually slightly smaller than their distant kin.  
“What happened while I was away on the Necromancer’s bidding?” the words that hissed forth from Torgin’s bared fangs held barely concealed fury, the slight hint of pain long disappeared.  
“They were stolen,” Khelekmin spat, slowly beginning to slide around the Mountain-Drake, knowing that he still intimidated him.   
Drakes were not immune to the pure blue flames of the SnowDrakes.  
“Stolen by who?” Torgin growled, his voice slowly building in volume, “Why did no one stop this deed!?”  
“You did not ask, and we were not obligated. We are not sitters for your Hatchlings,” Khelekmin replied evenly, a smile barely touching his scarred face, and he stared in calm satisfaction when Torgin roared in fury.  
When the reverberating sound had ceased, the Mountain-Drake slammed his claw to the ground as if withholding himself from attacking the SnowDrake and demanded,  
“Who did it then!? So I might exact my revenge and take back what is mine!? Where is your SnowDrake runt? Has he fled? Is he slain? Did he do it?”  
Khelekmin was aware of the eyes of the other smaller Drakes, including the smaller, black mutants, glued to his actions.  
“The FireDrake did it. The FireDrake…and two of the Eldar. For what reason, I know not. As for Hyansul, I do not know where he has gone,” he answered calmly.  
“The…FireDrake,” Torgin spat the last word vehemently, and Khelekmin was slightly surprised when he felt a touch of anger.   
Little by little, the Mountain-Drake’s head came closer until Khelekmin could feel his hot breath, and it angered him further.  
“Your…FireDrake…Khelekmin,” Torgin hissed, “The same worm that killed my mate, that killed others of our force…has now stolen my eggs?”  
“Indeed,” Khelekmin replied evenly, every fiber in his body burning to lash out at the pompous Mountain-Drake as he said slowly, “And who’s fault was that, hm…? That your eggs were stolen from beneath your nose…? You cannot fly in pursuit. We know not where they are. You do not have permission from the Dark Lord to leave this place again.”  
Behind Torgin’s bared teeth, Khelekmin could see the burning, amber glow of fire, pre-eruption, beginning to glow in the Mountain-Drake’s throat, but all the large Drake snarled was,  
“I shall be avenged of your Blood’s treachery.”  
Khelekmin watched as Torgin flapped mightily, loudly, until the Mountain-Drake had reached one of the many upper levels of the cavern, disappearing from sight.  
With a growl, he settled himself back on the floor, keeping his single, pale eye slit slightly open in caution.   
Torgin was the only Drake that was bold enough to challenge him, and Torgin was the only Drake Khelekmin was wary of.  
~~~  
~ Northern Misty Mountains…  
“Don’t worry, you will get accustomed to it!” Menelaudh called happily, a strangely feminine giggle escaping her as she glanced across her wingspan at her brother.  
Hyansul looked at her in exasperation, then shifted himself in the air, bouncing Athey, who clung tightly to his back.  
Aldariil rubbed Menelaudh’s scales happily, a strange, emotional warmth smoldering in his heart when he glanced at her glittering, white brother.   
He loved dragons so much.  
Menelaudh rolled lazily in the air, Aldariil remained fastened to her back expertly, and he smiled upside-down at Athey when their heads became level.  
“You will reach this point eventually,” Aldariil laughed.  
“You are DragonKin,” Athey grinned at him, tears in his eyes from the wind, “I do not think I shall ever surpass your bond.”  
“I do not plan on remaining with you after our battle,” Hyansul snorted, and Aldariil laughed loudly, patting the SnowDrake’s neck as he shouted above the wind,  
“Oh, cruel!”  
“It’s okay. I mean, I don’t think my parents will like me being upon the back of a Drake for very long,” Athey shrugged.  
Aldariil was thinking of a sufficient response when he felt Menelaudh tense beneath him, a behavior he had grown to recognize as the FireDrake having seen something.  
“Is that an army?” she asked suddenly, and righted herself.  
Aldariil leaned out from over her, gazing down towards the ground, far away.  
It took him some time to see it, but his sharp Elven eyes picked it out quickly.   
It was definitely an army of some kind, and it took Aldariil a moment to recognize the forest greens and browns, armor glinting in the sunlight.   
Far on the southeast horizon, Mirkwood was dark, towering smear, and he immediately knew who was below him.  
“That’s Uncle Thran’!” he shouted to no one in particular, and Athey and Hyansul both looked at him with identical expressions of confusion.  
“He rides north from Mirkwood as he said! He is not so far behind us!” Aldariil exclaimed nervously, then he patted Menelaudh’s solid side and finished, “Let us finish our scout north to see what there is to see of our enemies before flying back with all haste!”  
“Perhaps there is chance for King Thranduil to join his forces with our own?” Athey asked hopefully, and Hyansul answered, to Aldariil’s surprise,  
“Or make this mess more mixed than it has to be, what with mutiny and all, as the King views it.”  
The dragon’s simply spoken sentence put into words the thought in Aldariil’s mind and he frowned in worry.  
“Ada will know what to do,” he said, more or less to himself, and tightened his knees in a grip on Menelaudh as the two dragons began to flap forward powerfully, surging ahead of the army with incredible speed.  
~  
~ North of the armies, several hours later…  
“I see nothing!” Athey called to Aldariil before addressing Hyansul and Menelaudh, saying, “Do you two see anything?”  
“There is nothing,” Menelaudh agreed.   
Aldariil was confused, because according to their careful planning, Ardryll’s map, and Itryd’s confirmation, the Avari should be in this area of the north, quite a large, traveling group of Avari.   
According to what his uncle had said earlier, the Avari that had remained hidden in Mirkwood had only fled north but a small time ago, so they should have only just reached their larger force of companions.  
“Let’s return and report on King Thranduil’s movement,” Menelaudh said despondently and Aldariil felt a twist of frustration in his chest that, even with the combined advantage of both Drakes, they had not managed to see any sign of the Avari they were hunting.  
“Do you think they have already reached Angmar?” Athey asked worriedly, and Aldariil shook his head, replying,  
“There is no way, unless they are aided by…witchcraft. I doubt it, as it they are fully unaware of our movements.”  
Athey nodded with pursed lips.   
“Going back,” Menelaudh said in a reporting sort of tone, and she immediately banked sharply, nearly casting Aldariil from her back in the unexpected maneuver as she lost several meters of altitude, turning 180 degrees back south.   
Aldariil heard a brief yelp and looked behind him as Hyansul followed his sister, making an identical turn, and Athey was immediately torn free from the SnowDrake’s back.  
Hyansul didn’t seem to notice, but Menelaudh roared something to him so loudly that Aldariil did not understand her.  
The SnowDrake’s pale eyes opened wide in alarm and he whirled about in the air until he spotted the Elf hurtling towards the ground.  
Athey was already quite a distance away from them, so Aldariil felt panic rising in his chest. He flattened himself to Menelaudh’s back as she dove after her brother.   
After a few moments of impossibly swift descent and staring at the hind-end of the glittering white Drake diving before him, wings shaking ever so slightly in the wind of his passing, pressed against his sides, Aldariil could tell that Athey would be caught, but it would be close.  
Not nearly as close as his own fall chasing the Hatchling towards the ground, days earlier.  
That fact alone eased Aldariil’s mind, but the situation was still horrifying.   
Accidents were so easy to achieve.  
Hyansul stretched his claws forward, reaching for the Elf, and caught him up safely.   
Both Drakes opened their wings and back-flapped strongly, slowing their descent until they lit lightly upon the ground; Lightly, for dragons, but still causing heavy, audible ‘thooms’ with their great weight.  
“Now that is something I shall never forget,” Athey breathed with eyes as round as full moons, and Aldariil couldn’t help a nervous laugh, patting the other young Elf on the shoulder.  
“Be conscious of your rider, brother,” Menelaudh said, a small tremor in voice, and Hyansul only nodded somewhat humbly.  
Aldariil heard a strange hissing noise and looked up just as something struck Hyansul between the eyes with a strange ‘plink’ noise, rattling down his white scales until falling to the ground.  
It took a moment for Aldariil to realize it was an arrow, but he nearly swallowed his tongue in shock when Hyansul growled so ferociously it almost sounded like a deafening dog bark, his pupils narrowing predatorially as he swung his head furiously in the direction the shaft had been fired.   
Athey seemed horrified at the abrupt, animalistic response, as well, but Aldariil knew the SnowDrake was aware it wasn’t them, although he was staring past them.  
Menelaudh’s nostrils flared and she made a single bound, appearing surprisingly cat-like, but Hyansul was swifter, flapping a massive wing over the two young Elves in an impossibly quick motion and shielding them from a shower of arrows that bounced harmlessly from the opalescent wing. His eyes were squeezed shut.   
Drakes learned and adapted quickly.  
Aldariil’s mind was blank in shock, crouching motionlessly as Hyansul and Menelaudh both roared challengingly, and he met Athey’s frightened golden gaze across from him as they both held their ears.  
When the Drakes’ magnificent challenge had waned, Aldariil was shocked to hear something roaring in response, but it was no creature, it was the sound of a group of people or Elves. He assumed Elves, because their voices were fair.  
Another harmless shower of arrows rained down about Hyansul’s wing, Aldariil could see, and he snatched one out from below the SnowDrake’s span, holding the shaft close to his face to examine it.   
It was flawless and black.   
Athey snatched it from him violently and stared at it before dropping the arrow, shouting at him,   
“Avari, DragonKin!”  
Hyansul’s wing suddenly lifted and Aldariil had to take a moment for his eyes to become adjusted to the immediate, blinding sunlight, and he watched as Hyansul’s claws raked through a charging force of Avari, more and more Elves emerging from the trees before them with weapons.   
Aldariil could feel his mouth hanging open in shock as they seemed to come from nowhere, but they didn’t seem to see him, nor Athey, their attack entirely focused on the SnowDrake.  
Aldariil’s dazed vision wandered across the clearing until he saw a tall, slender Avari wearing a circlet with a deep black jewel at its apex, climb slowly to the top of a small rock formation, staring evenly at the SnowDrake as he lifted his hands.  
Aldariil felt as if he wanted to vomit when he recognized his pale face, splashed with freckles and the small upward curve of his nose that Alinor had always teased him for being cute.   
Without entirely knowing what he was doing, Aldariil stood and screamed his name, his voice cracking prematurely and ringing out clearly over the havoc of the attacking Avari.   
“GARRIK!”   
The Avari froze and looked around frantically as if coming free of a daze, but the innocent expression didn’t last long.   
Garrik’s black eyes met Aldariil’s in a moment of desperate, warm recognition, and Aldariil felt everything around him grow silent. He could feel his heart reaching for him, missing him as a younger brother, but the Avari was strangely distant.  
His black eyes glazed in hate again and he lifted his arms once more, beginning to shout words in a language Aldariil had no idea that his old, closest companion even knew.   
“He calls upon a black magic! Fly, Hyansul!” Aldariil screamed, immediately feeling shut out from Garrik…He didn’t even want to think of him as Garrik, because…it WASN’T Garrik, no matter the face attached.  
Hyansul seemed to realize what he had said as a dark cloud began forming about the Avari standing alone on the rocks, and he snatched Athey in a claw, immediately beginning to beat the air around him with his wings.  
Several Avari fell to the ground from the massive blasts of wind, and Aldariil turned his gaze to Garrik for a final time, staring at his familiar, cold face.  
Garrik didn’t seem to recognize him any longer, or the great black FireDrake before him either.  
Aldariil felt Menelaudh’s claws close carefully about his body and he was pressed against her chest, unable to look at anything but the intricate, leaf-shaped jewel resting against the FireDrake’s breast.  
~~~


	20. Kin ~ Chapter 19

“My lord, it was undoubtedly those who seek to destroy us. We were attacked by their FireDrake, a SnowDrake and a pair of young Elves,” Garrik was saying to the stoic face of the possessed Avari before him, “With two Drakes, we will be crushed… or at least scattered beyond recovery before our magic could successfully stop two such beasts. We will not reach Angmar in force. Their army blocks the northern passage through the Misty Mountains.”  
“Go east,” the strange voice hissed forth from the Avari, and Garrik blinked in confusion, his voice cracking, to his embarrassment, when he stammered,  
“E-east?”   
“Yes. You will flee east, and the Dark Lord will send aid,” the voice said in 2nd-person.   
Garrik met Borug’s, the Orc leader’s, eyes, but he seemed just as concerned.  
“We will do as you say, my lord,” Garrik said at last, bowing his head, and the voice replied darkly,  
“Good. Flee east with all speed and in the cover of nightfall. I will send swift and powerful aid.”  
Garrik raised his eyes slightly when the voice finished slowly,   
“Do not let them catch you.”  
~~~  
~ Council of Elven leaders…  
“Are you sure, lad?” Glorfindel pressed, and Athey, who had a rather large bruise across his cheek and arm where Hyansul’s claws had caught him, nodded.  
“Right as Hyansul removed his wing from us to take flight, I saw the Orcs coming forth from the trees. There were Avari AND Orcs. I am sure of it.”  
“Then their forces have somehow already joined,” Elrond sighed, and Aldaraen seemed just as crestfallen, adding,  
“They are now aware of our presence, for who can miss two Drakes.”  
“And Garrik knows Menelaudh,” Alinor said quietly, her eyes downcast.   
Her husband nudged her gently with his leg but she remained still, staring at the ground.  
“There is no point in being sad in something we cannot change,” Gandalf interrupted, the Elves glancing at the young Wizard in surprise, “Now we should do what there is only to be done. We need to strike since the Orc and Avari armies have already joined. There is no other option.”  
“Gandalf is right,” Elrond said, looking at Glorfindel, the eldest, for affirmation, “There is naught else to be done.”  
Glorfindel remained quiet, looking first at Yaeran and Eardaneth, then Aldaraen, then Elrond, then Itryd, until he spoke quietly, saying,  
“Then ready your soldiers. We march in the morning.”  
~~~  
~ Angmar…  
Khelekmin didn’t have to see who approached him from above to know it was Torgin.  
A few massive gusts of wind buffeted him in an irritating way and Khelekmin slowly raised his curved neck when the MountainDrake landed before him, a mocking sneer painted across his ruddy head.  
Several smaller, younger Drakes backed away.  
“Have you heard the news, SnowDrake…? The gossip…?”  
“What have you come to lie of now, Torgin?” Khelekmin replied dismissively, already beginning to turn away, but he paused when Torgin answered swiftly,  
“Your SnowDrake Hatchling, Hyansul, now stands beside his sister on the side of the Elves, allowing himself to be rid as a beast of burden…a pet.” He had spat the final word in emphasis.  
The unexpected rage that built in Khelekmin’s body tunneled his vision and he felt the familiar tingle of sensitivity in his scales, as if even the smallest wisp of wind struck him like a blow.   
“Revenge for my lost Hatchlings shall be mine in watching you battle your spawn that robbed me of my offspring,” Torgin hissed.   
For the first time in a long time, Khelekmin felt his temper slip beyond control, but he stayed his ground and merely roared in fury, the magnificent, bone-chilling scream reverberating throughout the chambers of Angmar for all to hear.  
~~~  
~ The next morning…  
Haldir stopped talking to his brothers when Alinor’s large black horse, Forwen, nearly skidded to a stop beside his own, her face lit in a happy smile of welcome.  
“What are you doing, Lady of the Wood?” he asked teasingly, smiling when his closest companion kissed his cheek affectionately.  
“Are you as thrilled as I am at the prospect of our first battle?” she asked, and he laughed with a shrug, replying,  
“I suppose. We will be able to put Eardaneth’s hard teaching to the test, and he will see his two best pupils work together, as he always spoke of.”  
“Let’s just try not to fire at one another again, eh?” she said, and he fell quiet, gazing at her fondly as the pure memories of their youth resurfaced in his mind.  
“Our deeds will be sung of by Minstrels in Ages to come. I do not fear death, Mellomamin, as much as I once believed that I would,” Alinor said, and Elrohir’s voice sounded from behind them, saying snidely,  
“Thus sayeth the Mirkwood Elf. Tis’ a good thing you have me to protect you.”  
Alinor cast a humorously irritated glance over her shoulder before rolling her eyes and looking at her friend once more, finishing,  
“Of course I am wary of what might come to pass, but I know this is for the greater good, and I am not afraid to face my destiny. I am only glad that it is at my doorstep and not lingering as a dark, shadowed mass on the horizon of my mind’s eye.”  
“Me neither, Ali’,” Haldir nodded at her reassuringly, “What of Aldariil? Do you trust in his young skill?”  
“He has Menelaudh to protect him. What have I to worry about him?” Alinor laughed in response, then urged Forwen into a trot, making her way towards her young Wizard friends who rode together in a silent group, some sort of jealous feud having pushed between them that Haldir did not understand.  
Elrohir rode past him, as well, taking a pause to look at him wearily and say quietly, “Keep an eye on her too, would you, please? You know how Elves from Mirkwood are.”  
“You wed her,” Haldir laughed, but winked at him good-naturedly so the other Elf knew that he understood, and the Imladris warrior cantered forward, following Alinor deeper into the mounted ranks of the Elven army.  
~~~

~ Several hours later…  
“They indefinitely move east,” Eardaneth spoke his confirmed observation softly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looked up at Itryd, whose sky-blue scarf fluttered gently in the wind about his arm. “Why would the Avari and Orc armies move east? You said they were to be called to Angmar to grow in strength and numbers.”  
“I do not know,” Itryd’s cheeks immediately flushed, his voice slightly nervous, “If they knew that we were pursuing them, they know that there is no other way across the Misty Mountains. We blocked the pass. They are running from us.”  
“He’s right. Why else would they go east? They’re either buying time, or think we are stupid as they try to go about us and reach the pass that way,” Glorfindel said.  
“How long do you think they have been fleeing?” Elrond asked, and Eardaneth replied cautiously,  
“I’m not sure. These tracks are quite old, however.”  
“Thus the chase of the Age ensues,” Aldaraen sighed, then remounted his horse and stared off angrily across the endless fields east.  
“They will not make a mockery of us,” Itryd said angrily, whistling for his horse, as well, “Maellang believes he is smarter than us all. We will remove him from his place of high pride.”  
“I do not believe they are led by Maellang,” Aldaraen said quietly, but when the other Elven leaders gazed at him questioningly, he added in uneasy haste, “I will tell the soldiers what is transpiring.”  
“We will stop them, and we will bring them war. They shall not escape justice, and they shall not escape the wrath of the Eldar after the works of grief they have laid upon us,” Eardaneth said determinedly, and ignored his elder brother’s worried glance as he remounted his steed.  
~~~


	21. Kin ~ Chapter 20

~ A few days later…  
“Our enemies must not rest. They travel during the day and the night,” Elrohir murmured quietly to Alinor, their horses walking slowly side by side, “We should have caught them by this time. Stopping to allow our steed’s rest only deters us.”   
The army had allowed their steeds to rest, although not bringing them to a full stop, just a slow walk.   
Endless, rocky landscape stretched before them, rising in falling in no beautiful pattern, seeming desolate, but far on the horizon was the dark blur of a forest, or mountains.  
“We have been chasing them for several sunrises now. It is humiliating,” Earathran spat angrily, his auburn hair and sapphire eyes stark in contrast to his black uniform of the Avari, “They must be aided by witchcraft.”  
“Do you really believe that they are just trying to circumvent us? Surely, we must be past Erebor by now,” Alinor said in equal irritation.  
The young Elves turned in surprise when a friendly voice replied assuredly, “We passed Erebor, further south, Elflings. I have never traveled this far east, myself.”  
“Master Balin?” Alinor asked in surprise, squinting down from Forwen’s back at the familiar Dwarf, who smiled up at her and answered,  
“Aye, it is me, lass.”  
“When did you join the company?” Alinor exclaimed in shock, leaning down to clasp the Dwarf’s hand in welcome while Elrohir looked on in confusion.  
“I arrived here with the lad’s father,” Balin indicated Earathran, “I was sent to Mirkwood to speak with your Uncle, however…fortunes have turned ill in that Wood, I’m afraid. I had to travel with Yaeran and Eardaneth for my own safety…I also offered my help against the Drakes you reported within Angmar.”  
“How will YOU fight against the Drakes?” Elrohir asked, more than a small hint of sarcasm and disbelief apparent in his question, but he winced when Alinor delivered a sharp kick to his leg. He added, “We thank you for your aid, however.”  
“I am not entirely sure that my and the brothers’ idea will work, but it is worth a try…seeing as there is no other option,” Balin said lowly, uneasiness shining in his eyes.   
The three Elves and the Dwarf looked forward, however, whenever Eardaneth’s commanding voice called for Balin, and before Alinor could ask any further question, the Dwarf smiled at them and finished,  
“May Durin be with you all, laddies…and lass. I am not sure when I might speak with you again.”  
Balin spurred his goat-mount forward gently, and Elrond’s son, Eardaneth’s son, and Aldaraen’s daughter, watched as the lone Dwarf made his way calmly through the mounted army of Elves.  
~~~  
~ That night…  
None of the Elves sat, preferring to stand impatiently at their mounts’ sides as the panting steeds drank thirstily from the stream they had happened upon, knowing that they would be forced to continue once they had finished.  
Raebidus didn’t know where Aldariil had gone, perhaps to speak to his sister or father, so he sat now surrounded by his strange, beastly companions.  
Bishuk and Burz were wading in the stream, burying their snouts in the water as they drank noisily on the move.   
Menelaudh and Hyansul also drank from the stream, making eddies in the pool where their muzzles were submerged in the water, sucking water soundlessly into their mouths.   
At his shoulder stood Ardir, Aldariil’s mount, with the large, makeshift saddlebags slung over his broad black shoulders.   
Raebidus was feeding him an apple, scratching the massive stallion under the cheek, when he heard a strange crunching sound, followed by a squeak.  
The red-haired Man looked at his feet hurriedly, wondering what he had stepped on, but he noticed something gleaming dripping from one of the saddlebags, which seemed to be soaked through.   
Raebidus heard the squeaking again and he opened the saddlebag hurriedly in time to see the second Hatchling struggling free from its shell, squeaking plaintively.   
Raebidus backed away immediately, not wishing to imprint on the animal, and yelled,   
“Aldariil! Aldariil DragonKin, you have another bloody Hatchling!”   
The speed at which Raebidus could see Aldariil bounding through the army towards him, blue eyes stretched wide, suggested a lot of noise, but the Elf was nearly soundless in his hurry.  
He brushed past Raebidus lightly and immediately placed the sack on the bank of the river, his chest rising and falling swiftly in his excitement, not in panic, a small smile gracing his usually solemn face.  
The first Hatchling, which had been curled on Ardir’s rump, raised its head upon hearing its Hatch-mate’s cries, and fluttered its wings happily.   
Menelaudh and Hyansul both swung their great necks slowly over the stream, having no need to rise fully from their crouch on the bank, until they could gaze at the newest Hatchling’s birth and Aldariil’s caring movements.  
He peeled the shell fragments away slowly until the membrane-thin wings came loose, falling uselessly, at the moment, to the animal’s sides.  
Aldariil gently wiped the Hatchling’s face clean with the sack before washing the rest of its small body clean in the stream with minute, painstakingly careful movements.  
“She is perfect,” Menelaudh hummed softly in pleasure, and Aldariil looked up at her with glowing eyes, his arms and cheek smeared in bloody fluid.  
“It is a dragoness?” he beamed, and Menelaudh nodded.  
“It seems as if we are to be joined by another,” Hyansul chuckled, and just as the SnowDrake spoke, the Elf already looking towards Ardir, Raebidus heard more squeaks sounding from another saddlebag.   
“Two more eggs,” Raebidus said happily, and trotted to Ardir’s side to bring the third Hatchling to Aldariil’s care.  
~~~  
~ The next day…  
Alinor rode at her father’s side today, enjoying his comforting, powerful presence.   
They spoke intermittently, but, for the most part, Alinor was content to ride in silence and enjoy one another’s company in that manner.  
“It seems as though Aldariil has his hands full,” Aldaraen said quietly, an amused smile finally breaking across his usually downcast features, and Alinor followed his gaze.  
Aldariil rode upon Ardir’s back, a Hatchling clinging to his shoulders with small, sharp claws, its small wings beating at his head as it tried them out tentatively, making the young Elf close his eyes, although he seemed to not mind at all. A second Hatchling was held in his lap, his free hand cupped protectively over its fragile back, and a third Hatchling’s head peered curiously from the top of a saddle bag which the Elf wore as a backpack.   
The last egg, which hadn’t hatched yet, bounced gently against his leg and Ardir’s shoulder as the horse walked.  
“It’s as if he already has Elflings, no?” Alinor laughed, watching her brother affectionately as he scolded the Hatchling on his shoulders for clambering precariously on top of head.  
The Hatchling didn’t seem to care, settling down on the Elf’s head and wrapping its tail about his forehead like a strange circlet.  
Aldariil visibly groaned, but he let the Hatchling be.   
“I thought you were something of the dragon-tamer,” Aldaraen looked at his daughter with a small smile, and she returned the expression, replying,  
“I have others to give my attentions to, Ada,” she gazed over her father’s shoulder at Elrohir, who seemed to be bickering good-naturedly with his twin brother, “Menelaudh bestowed a wise surname upon him, did she not? DragonKin he has truly become.”  
“More Dragon than Elven,” Aldaraen sighed, watching his son again, and Alinor saw a gleam of worry smolder in his sapphire eyes, “It is not normal.”  
“It could be, Ada…it just has never happened before, and Aldariil is the first…or second,” Alinor shrugged with a giggle.  
In the short silence that followed, Alinor’s mind wandered to her cousin, Legolas, who had always been as an elder brother to her. She wondered if he was marching forward with Thranduil’s army, as their winged scouts had reported on seeing.  
“You seem overly happy to be going to war,” Aldaraen said abruptly, interrupting her thoughts.  
“Adventure,” Alinor stated simply.  
“Are you not afraid of…losing someone beloved to your heart?” Aldaraen asked uncertainly.  
Alinor looked at him seriously now, surprised at his tone, something she didn’t recall hearing in her life.  
“Ada,” she began slowly, and leaned across their mounts to kiss his cheek lovingly, “Ada…Of course I’m frightened…but if you continue through your life being concerned with what MIGHT be, and not enjoying the moment, then a sad life you will have, will you not? There is no joy in it, no excitement! The future is always uncertain, but I am not frightened of it, because I know that the Valar have a destiny planned for me, and one way or another, I will arrive at it. We are ensuring a better life for our Elflings, for the next generation of all in Middle-Earth…that is a fine cause worth aiding, and I’m glad for my part.”  
Aldaraen didn’t answer her, staring at his hands, holding his mount’s reins.  
“Amin mela lle, Ada. Have faith in the Valar,” Alinor finished softly, and her father met her gaze for several moments, no emotion betrayed in their sapphire depths.   
When he looked away at last, Alinor was sure that he was more troubled than when they had first begun their conversation, and she lowered her gaze sadly, remembering the stories of her daring young father, always seeking adventure and danger.  
Now that he had found it, it seemed as though he was frightened of it…and Alinor hated it. She blamed one being in all of Arda and one being only, and she swore in her heart to make recompense for her father’s lost spirit.  
~~~  
~ A few days later, nightfall…  
The horses were having a slight rest.  
The army had entered a forest early in the morning, causing many of the Elven soldiers to murmur in discontent upon how long they would chase their enemies.   
All the way to Mordor, it seemed, sometimes.  
Elrohir watched his steed’s heaving flanks worriedly before whispering healing words in Elvish, softly.  
His father was before him, caring for his own steed.  
“This one is tiny,” Menelaudh’s chortling voice drew his attention, and he looked down the slight rise he and his father occupied to see the FireDrake on her side, her tail curled about the three Hatchlings.  
The Hatchling that Menelaudh indicated was curled in a small ball, sleeping, while her two brothers wrestled with each other like clumsy, large birds.  
“I suppose the last egg is a dragoness, then,” Elrohir said, and Elrond looked at him in surprise, so he added quickly, “I hear Aldariil, Alinor and Raebidus speaking of the ways of Drakes often…their sexes are usually equal in 4 eggs, but males outnumber in odd numbers, as is the case with Menelaudh’s hatch-mates.”  
Elrond still seemed lost, and Elrohir immediately felt embarrassed.  
“Dragons are dangerous, my son,” Elrond commented shortly, then turned back to smoothing his hands over his horse’s side.  
Elrohir couldn’t help but ponder how the elder Elves, including his father, did not wish to part from the idea that all dragons were dangerous and evil…even with the example of Menelaudh before their faces.  
“I hear from Alinor that we are gaining on our enemies, at last. They are losing steam,” Elrohir attempted to raise conversation again, and felt relief when his father nodded, seeming only to be in deep, stern thought.  
“Yes, we are coming upon great hills and mountains. It will slow them down,” Elrond replied, “The Drakes and their riders say that they are frightened to attack alone in fear of our enemy’s magic. Justly so. I feel that there is something more to this, however…some form of trickery.”  
“I, as well,” Elrohir agreed softly. He gave his mount a final pat and turned to look at his father, but was surprised to find him already staring at him critically. “What’s the matter?” he asked worriedly.   
It took him a moment to realize that Elrond wasn’t staring necessarily at him, but over his shoulder, and Elrohir turned to see Alinor playing with a Hatchling on the forest floor.  
“Ada, do you not--?” he began, feeling a defensive anger growing in his chest, but Elrond interrupted him, answering quietly,  
“I wish you did not wed her, Elrohir.”  
“I love her, Ada—“  
“I know you love her, which is why she is such a threat to you…in a time of war.”  
“She will not die, and neither will I,” Elrohir retorted angrily, but Elrond countered almost immediately, a fatherly gleam of exasperation in his grey eyes,   
“And you are suddenly prophetic… my son?”  
“She will—“  
“It will ruin you, Elrohir,” Elrond said, grasping his son’s arms to regain his attention, and Elrohir looked at him worriedly at the plain hint of agony and fear in his father’s voice, “I know you love her, StarRider, but her death will destroy you when such bonding ruin should have been avoided.”  
“It doesn’t seem to have ruined you,” Elrohir said defiantly, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted them, feeling his stomach stink.  
“Ada, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.   
Elrond only shook his head in dismissal, indicating that he understood his son’s frustration, gazing at him quietly before he spoke, saying slowly, “There is some pain that a warrior, a father, and a Lord, should not show, Elrohir.”  
Elrond took his leave then, making his way towards Glorfindel’s, Yaeran’s, Eardaneth’s, Itryd’s, and Aldaraen’s waiting silhouettes.  
Elrohir felt immense shame, although he knew his father forgave him, and he ran his fingers through his hair, letting out his breath.  
In his mind, he knew his father’s words were right, but he was frightened to let his heart admit it.   
~~~  
~ The next morning…  
The Elven army had continued traveling throughout the night until the sky had begun to turn pink and grey in cold, early morning light.  
Alinor wore her husband’s cloak about her shoulders tightly to keep her warm, looking to her side to watch his profile as he yawned, to her surprise.  
She couldn’t help wondering if the blood of Man running in his veins caused some minute differences in certain actions and emotions.  
He glanced at her with a familiar smirk and she leaned across the distance between their mounts to kiss him lovingly.  
The morning was calm, but strangely quiet.  
“That is a beautiful sunrise,” Elrohir commented, and Alinor looked towards the fiery orange sphere becoming visible in a saddle between two large mountains…..  
Abruptly, Alinor pulled Forwen to a stop, and Elrohir looked over his shoulder at her worriedly, but her face seemed frozen in time, emerald eyes wide, as she stared upwards at the mountain range they were approaching, crowned by a mountain significantly larger than the rest, no trees or greenery growing at its apex.  
Elrohir looked up as well, desperately searching for whatever held his wife’s attention so well, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary, the quiet broken only by the thumping of the horses’ hooves and the far-away cry of an eagle.  
“Alinor…” he said worriedly, turning his steed against the flow of mounted soldiers, who only glanced at him in boredom.   
“H…H…” Alinor was apparently struggling against her own shock to speak, but she finally whispered, “We’re…home.”  
“This isn’t Mirkwood, silly,” Elrohir laughed, but Alinor shook her head, pointing towards the large mountain and finishing with a trembling voice,  
“Th…That’s…I fell down…Elrohir, we are near Gwemyr…”  
The name sounded familiar to Elrohir and he knew that Alinor had spoken of the place before, but it was only when she spoke again that Elrohir understood, the She-Elf blurting,  
“That’s the Fire-Mountain.”  
“Ali’!” Aldariil’s enlightened voice called his sister in excitement somewhere behind them, but Elrohir only stared up at the mountain range now, as well, as Alinor finished,  
“Garrik has taken us home.”  
~~~  
~ A few days later…  
“Garrik knows this terrain,” Raebidus said as he pulled his mount to a stop beside the Elven leaders of the army, “He knows there’s no way for an army to get around this Fire-Mountain without us catching them.”  
Yaeran agreed.  
Eardaneth forgot that his brother had visited Aldaraen and his family twice or so in the past, and he looked up now, shielding his sapphire gaze from the sun to stare up at the soaring, looming height of the shadowed Fire-Mountain they were slowly but steadily making their winding way towards.  
“Melamin,” he heard Elrohir address his wife behind him, “You fell…down THAT?”   
“Yes,” was her simple reply, but Eardaneth, having raised and trained Alinor from her Elflinghood to young adulthood, could practically hear the proud smirk she wore on her face.   
“You’re dumb,” Elrohir replied sarcastically, and Eardaneth heard the soft sound of his arm being slapped.  
Eardaneth brought his attention back to more important matters, listening as Aldaraen asked quietly,   
“Why does Garrik lead his army into a dead ended path?”  
“He must know something we don’t,” Glorfindel said darkly, his face stonily serious as if expecting attack at any moment, “They must be preparing for battle.”  
“Why did he flee so far?” Aldaraen shook his head in bewilderment, “Only to turn on us and strike at such a terrible vantage point?”  
“He knows something we do not,” Glorfindel repeated eerily.  
Aldaraen glanced back at Alinor, who was watching them with a sort of confused pain in her eyes.  
She still believed that Garrik had not turned for the worse…had not been entirely taken by Sauron, as she nearly had. She dreaded the expectation of battling him.  
“We will reach the face of the Fire-Mountain by tomorrow. Prepare your People for battle,” Elrond said.   
The subsequent Elven leaders, Itryd, Aldaraen, Elrohir and Lothlorien’s present commanding Captain, turned and departed, preparing to deliver the news to their individual armies.  
~ 

 

~ That night…  
“There is anger in your heart.”  
Alinor looked up in surprise at her husband’s voice, but she relaxed and leaned into his embrace when he hugged her from behind.  
“I will avenge my mother, my Aunt Wharyn, and all those whom Sauron has murdered in cold blood,” she replied, “His time for defeat has come.”  
Elrohir could see her bright eyes staring intently up at the stars as if she were reading a message only she could see.  
“Do not underestimate the power of the fallen Maiar and his followers, Melamin,” he whispered, a sudden prick of fear touching his heart, but Alinor only shook her head, already lost in her own thoughts once more. She pulled free from his protecting arms, stalking away amongst the resting soldiers.  
Elrohir knew that, if anything, Alinor’s stubbornness and pride would be her ruin.  
And it frightened him.  
~~~  
The next day…  
Every precaution was taken in their stealthy advance.  
Menelaudh and Hyansul now lumbered along in the center of the mounted Elven army, their massive wings folded neatly, uniformly, at their sides. They were surprisingly quiet.  
Aldariil rode beside them, immersed in his own struggle to maintain control of the curious Hatchlings.  
The last egg that remained unhatched bounced gently in the sack against the horse’s shoulder.  
Every Elf could feel the tension and witchcraft they were steadily approaching. They knew something awaited them not much further ahead.  
Bishuk and Burz’s, the two Wargs’, hackles remained raised the entire time, baring their fangs at anyone that approached them, but for Lynndor and Raebidus themselves.  
Eardaneth was riding at near the front of the army, feeling surprisingly calm. He had led more than his fair share of assaults with an army at his back. The rank of High-Captain of the Guard of Greenwood the Great didn’t come very easily.   
He shifted his gaze to his shoulder, where his remaining son, Earathran, dressed entirely in black, rode between him and Itryd, the Avari commander.  
The sky-blue scarf knotted about his son’s strong bicep made his eyes seem all the more brilliant. He knew his son had his courageous heart, for fear did not shine in his eyes. Earathran had more than his brother’s untimely death to avenge.  
Eardaneth glanced to his other shoulder and was surprised to see that Yaeran was ashen in color, a cold sweat beading his upper lip.  
“Quiet one,” Eardaneth said humorously, gently, but Yaeran didn’t respond, so he continued, “Yaeran, what do you fear?”  
“I fear the consequence of slaying our fellow Eldar…SeaGaze….for quite understandable reasons, I would hope you will understand,” Yaeran responded quietly.  
“Yaeran, we are not Kin-slayers. We do not fight our brethren…We fight the slaves and the monsters of the Necromancer,” Eardaneth said strongly, and his elder brother nodded.  
“I know, Eardaneth. I just cannot help but feel that I am facing a curse set upon our blood by our forefathers.”  
Eardaneth didn’t know how to respond, so he fell silent, willing his brother’s dark words away from brewing in his mind.  
He didn’t need that. Not before a war.  
~~~  
When the Elven army came across their enemy at last, it was a frightening discovery for one reason and one reason only.   
Silence.  
They entered the black, rocky fields before the Fire-Mountain and found their enemy already assembled, perfectly, neatly, some ranks even stationed on the rocks to give their fellows below more room.   
There were Orcs and Elves, and, upon a single glance, Eardaneth knew that they were outnumbered. They would have easily had the upper hand if Thranduil had kept his sense about him and offered his aid.  
It didn’t take much to know that something was terribly wrong with the corrupted Avari.   
Many were losing hair or braiding it in strange fashions, their black eyes unblinking, their pale skin riddled with blueish scars and almost seeming to be decayed.  
At the apex of this army, standing highest on the rocks, was the Orc leader Eardaneth recognized as Borug…He hadn’t aged a day.   
But beside him, the one being that Eardaneth knew all eyes were upon, stood a tall, darkly handsome Elf, corruption having not taken a toll on him physically, yet. His waist was slender, leading to broad shoulders, a result of training with the Prince of Mirkwood and his full-hearty daughter, his simple black uniform fitting him perfectly. A familiar sword hung at his hip, his arms crossed across his chest, slightly upturned nose raised proudly in the air in defiance. He still had freckles, it seemed, but his black eyes were cold and remorseless.   
The young Elf Eardaneth had met seemed to be completely abolished.   
Garran’s circlet rested perfectly upon his handsome brow, black gem gleaming almost as a third eye.  
A strange green light was dancing across the dark rocks and army before them, and Eardaneth looked behind them to see the sun reflecting brightly on the green, leaf-shaped jewel resting on Menelaudh’s breast.   
He expected to see sorrow for Garrik in her icy blue eyes, but there was only pure hate as he heard her hiss,  
“That is not Garrik. His heart has been stolen. His mind has been taken.”  
Eardaneth, in that moment, wished that he had given further instructions to his pupils on defense against witchcraft.  
Staring up at Garrik, Raebidus swallowed hard, trying to find comfort in Menelaudh’s words that it was not his brother.   
“Garrik!” Aldaraen’s furious roar startled more than just the Elves at the front of the army as the Prince yelled at what he felt he had raised and taken part in as a father.  
Garrik didn’t even blink.  
It took Eardaneth a moment to realize that Garrik’s nose wasn’t raised in pride, but that he was staring upwards past the trees, expectantly…almost anxiously. His fingers drummed once on his biceps.  
In fact, all of the dark army before them was staring upwards.  
“What are they waiting for?” Glorfindel muttered, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword lightly.   
Eardaneth shrugged, feeling uneasy, as well, at the army’s strange, waiting silence. He looked over his shoulder and was pleased to see that Menelaudh and Hyansul were hidden in the trees behind them.  
“Eardaneth…” Aldaraen’s voice sounded weak, and Eardaneth looked at him worriedly, but the golden-haired Elf was staring up into the sky in the same direction as their enemy.  
Alinor turned slowly, her eyes growing wide in a mixture of fury and horror, and Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan looked up, as well.   
“We have trouble,” Elrond muttered, and yelled a command of watchfulness to the soldiers behind them as a distant, piercing roar echoed through the valley and mountains.   
Alinor and Aldaraen both seemed frozen in terror as a glinting white smear appeared in the sky, still a long way away, but the Elves knew perfectly well what approached.   
One after the other, several other dark shapes began to become discernible in the distance, bringing with them the sense of deep, dark evil.  
A faint squeak made Eardaneth jerk his frightened gaze back down to the ground, where Aldariil stood silently, staring at the oncoming Drakes with round eyes.   
The Hatchlings he held were squirming fitfully for a reason Eardaneth did not know.  
“DragonKin, hide the Hatchlings!” Alinor shouted abruptly, and Aldariil seemed to immediately share his sister’s thought, clutching the young dragons to his chest and fleeing towards the trees and the elder Drakes.  
“It is as we feared,” Eardaneth huffed. He called Balin, who seemed frightened, as well, and finished, “Master Dwarf, whatever idea you had for defense against these monsters, I would suggest taking action now.”  
“Gwemyr is a mining village, as you said, correct? The mine within the Iron Hills,” Balin asked, surprisingly calm, and Eardaneth suddenly became aware of his hands shaking as he focused on the old Dwarf’s calm, squinted eyes instead of the approaching, winged beasts.  
“Yes, it is.”  
“I believe you have a chance,” Balin said, then wheeled his goat-mount and spurred it after Aldariil.  
Only a minute or so later, Eardaneth heard the sound of several cracking branches and loud, deafening swoops of wind.  
He tore his eyes from the oncoming dragons in time to see Menelaudh flying low to the ground, making her swift way towards Gwemyr, out of sight of their enemies.  
Aldariil was set steadfastly on her back, clutching the Hatchlings close to his body, and behind him sat the only Dwarf in the army, bravely holding onto the seated Elf before him.  
Eardaneth turned his attention back to the approaching Drakes, who were rapidly becoming more and more detailed.  
Aldaraen whispered the name of the white dragon, which Eardaneth had quite forgotten, but he clearly heard Alinor moan in distress.  
Her face was pale as snow and she seemed to be internally battling something.  
“Alinor—?” he began, but she suddenly clutched Forwen’s mane so tightly that her knuckles turned white and the large black mare nickered in discomfort.  
“He’s with them,” she hissed, and Eardaneth could see her battling tears, “He is with them. He wants me.”  
“Valar have mercy,” Eardaneth whispered to himself, his skin growing cold, then he wheeled his horse and began shouting orders to the soldiers behind him.  
~~~  
Menelaudh swooped hastily from the sky and back-flapped over the main square of Gwemyr, treading air.   
The people gathered there in the market stared up at her in speechless, open-mouthed horror, until the FireDrake roared menacingly, causing them to flee in panic until she could land with a heavy ‘thoom’.  
A man watched as a sharp, yet fair featured Elf slid from the dragon’s back, clutching several small animals in his arms, and a small, bearded Man…or Dwarf, followed him clumsily.  
“Tell the Grand-Master!” the man’s wife yelled, and he nodded, fleeing away from the massive beast in the square, it’s long black tail whipping back and forth like an agitated cat.  
In the midst of the fray, Balin burst easily into a closed shop with a swinging sign which read:   
“Crisson’s Mining Supplies: Tools, Goods & Powder”  
Aldariil didn’t pay much attention, following the Dwarf into the darkness.   
He heard Balin shuffling around in the store, dropping things.   
The young Elf carefully removed glass lanterns from a crate filled with hay until he could nestle the small Hatchlings into its depths, placing the remaining egg gingerly inside the hay, as well. He found a box of dried fish supplies, and he used his sword to easily tear the lid loose.   
Making a small pile of food for them to share and carefully placing a small water dish in the crate, as well, Aldariil whispered, “Stay quiet, small ones. I will return for you later.”  
The Hatchlings’ heads were cocked curiously, but they only squeaked in confusion when Aldariil replaced the slotted crate lid, concealing them.   
They remained silent as Aldariil and Balin fled the building.  
“Menelaudh, let’s go!” Aldariil yelled, but when he turned the corner into the city’s square, he was surprised to be met with a group of armed Men and some sort of leader, who seemed familiar, for an odd reason. He was young and fit.  
“What is--?” the Man began, but Aldariil stopped and interrupted him furiously, knowing his accent was thick and getting the better of him,  
“There is a war about to take place outside your city! If you are wise, you will let us pass and prepare your own defenses in the case of our defeat!”  
Confusion was apparent all around, but the, apparently, Grand-Master of the city stepped before Aldariil again, stopping him.  
“War?!” he exclaimed, then brushed Aldariil’s hair aside expertly with his blade, finishing, “You are an Elf!”   
“Step aside!” Aldariil shouted furiously, but before the Man could protest, Menelaudh came forth from around a shop behind Aldariil and Balin, her fangs bared as she slowly allowed herself up from her concealing crouch, spreading her wings. A deep, throaty, slow growl emanated from her slightly open jaws.  
“You have a…a—“ the Man stammered, but Menelaudh never let him finish, thrusting her head forward and loosing a deafening, bone-chilling roar.   
Balin covered his ears, but Aldariil merely stared defiantly at the Man, feeling his hair and tunic whip against his body in her warm breath.   
A few of the Men dropped their weapons before fleeing, but the young leader of Gwemyr stopped at the edge of the Square, watching with a confused, yet thoughtful gaze as Aldariil and Balin remounted the FireDrake and they took to the sky.  
It took a moment for Aldariil to know where he recognized the Man.  
Numonex had been Gwemyr’s young Grand-Master when Aldariil had been small. Aldariil had grown with Numonex as friends.  
It seemed as though Numonex’s son, or grandson, had inherited not only his father’s position, but also his appearance.  
~~~  
Alinor was still frozen in place when the first approaching Drakes began to descend upon them.   
Many Elven soldiers scattered for better cover, but Alinor remained where she was, Forwen dancing nervously beneath her.  
With a heart-stopping scream, Hyansul exploded from the trees behind the army in, Alinor felt, a great show of bravery, and took flight as a distraction to more than a couple of enemy Drakes.  
Two Drakes had Alinor’s attention.   
They were magnificent.  
Menelaudh’s and Hyansul’s sire in his full glory, glittering white, opalescent scales shining blindingly in the sunlight as he flapped slowly to land high above on the Fire-Mountain. He was so large, it almost seemed slow-motion.  
Several boulders clattered down dangerously close to the opposing army.  
Khelekmin shook his head and roared in expectation of battle.   
Alinor knew that wherever her father was, he must be absolutely terrified…confronting a nightmare.  
The second massive dragon was a MountainDrake, ruddy in color, and larger than Khelekmin.   
Alinor had never seen, nor heard of, this Drake, but, just staring up at the two massive creatures made her stomach sink in despair. They had little to no chance of defeating such massive dragons. She now realized what Garrik had been waiting for.  
With one single, deafening roar, the armies of Avari and Orcs surged forward, crossing the open distance between the two armies swiftly.  
Alinor’s gaze was glued to the MountainDrake’s back as a large figure dressed entirely in black, as the Avari and Orcs, dismounted gracefully. His black cloak flowed almost too smoothly in the wind.   
Alinor could feel the fallen Maia’s golden-amber eyes sweep the two armies rushing to meet each other until they fell upon the only being standing perfectly still.   
Her blood seemed to run cold and simultaneously rush from her head.   
She slid, she felt, not by her own volition, from Forwen’s back to land clumsily on the ground, something cold, strong, and unbelievably dark wrapping itself about her mind.   
She could barely fight against it in her terror as memories surged forward to haunt her.  
The ground shook beneath her feet and Alinor barely recognized Menelaudh when she landed heavily on the ground, dropping Balin to the floor with several heavy bags.   
Her younger brother was sitting tall and strong on the FireDrake’s back, looking every bit the warrior with his drawn, Elvish sword. He was yelling commands to the surrounding soldiers with bows, shouting,   
“Shoot the Drake’s eyes! Shoot their mouths! Their eyes! Fire for their eyes!”  
“The hour has arrived, my lady,” a silky, warm voice with a hint of honey slid through her mind, and Alinor felt her knees crumble.  
She briefly saw stars before being enveloped in darkness.   
The last thing she remembered… was fury.  
Fury at how easily his first attack had succeeded.  
~~~


	22. Kin ~ Chapter 21

Elrohir’s heart dropped achingly in his chest when he saw his wife’s body lying small and still on the practically empty ground that the Elvish army had just occupied.   
He threw himself beside her on his knees, but as soon as his hands grasped her arm, Alinor sat up abruptly, her gaze groggy, yet furious.  
“Did you fall?” he asked loudly in concern, but she ignored him, struggling to her feet.  
Her emerald eyes were glazed in a strange way, searching the upper reaches of the Fire-Mountain, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging before her.  
“Where is your steed, Forwen?” Elrohir demanded, shaking her firmly, and she looked at him now.  
“She fled. I was set upon by an evil magic,” Alinor answered, but she didn’t sound frightened.  
A piercing whistling sound drew both Elves’ gazes towards the heavens as it screeched past above them, and Alinor blinked in surprise to see her brother crouched atop Menelaudh, leaning over her side with curved blade outstretched. The blade whistled through the air, almost like a signal…but for what?   
Alinor’s question was answered when from among the battling armies, a small, glowing blue object flipped into the air in Menelaudh’s path. The FireDrake tilted herself smoothly, allowing Aldariil to snatch the object expertly from the air, turning himself on Menelaudh’s back and nocking the object to his bow.   
This series of events lasted for only a few mere seconds, Alinor’s brother aiming and firing with hardly a breath.   
Behind Elrohir and Alinor, something screamed, and both young Elves turned simultaneously to see a smaller Mountain-Drake, which had apparently been pursuing Menelaudh and her rider, loose a final jet of fire before its skull shattered in its own explosion of blue and green flames.   
The dead dragon’s body folded limply as it fell to the ground with a ground-shuddering crash, only a few meters before the entranced Elves.  
“What…in the Valar…” Alinor whispered to herself, running forward, fearless of the dragon.   
She toed through the skull fragments and charred scales of the creature’s head until she revealed a blackened arrow.   
It was a plain, large Mirkwood arrow that had apparently been set on fire, but a small, light jar had been firmly attached to the end of the sturdy shaft.   
A strange, glowing blue liquid still clung stickily to the shaft of the arrow and Alinor stared at it in shock, sure it was magic of some sort.  
She was clueless as to where her brother had achieved such a weapon while simultaneously shocked as to how effectively it had downed the young MountainDrake.  
The sky seemed to be crawling with unfamiliar Drakes; At least seven or more younger, smaller Drakes, not counting the massive Torgin and Khelekmin  
She was focusing on the skies as the dragons swooped down upon the armies and bathed them in fire. Only her brother’s armor, crafted from Menelaudh’s discarded scales, was a suitable protection from the infernos.   
They were commanded by a dark presence. Alinor could feel it just as she could easily feel the presence beckoning to her own spirit to bend its will. The world, the battle, the screams, all seemed muffled and silent by the heavy draw.  
Elrohir yelled something to her, pointing towards the fighting, but she didn’t hear him, only staring after him emptily as her husband turned and ran as if in slow motion towards the battling armies, drawing his sword and swinging it in his hand.  
The glowing blue of the strange substance at her feet faded suddenly, the temporary spell dying, and Alinor stared down at it before looking about herself in confusion, wiping hair out of her face with the back of her hand and smearing grime across her cheeks.   
She finally found her answer, sheltered beneath the trees of the forest and away from the battlefield.   
In a few moments, she took in what appeared to be Balin and Yaeran; The Dwarf tediously, carefully, mixing powders together in a jar strapped to another large arrow before handing the mixture to Yaeran. Maedhros’ son, the eldest living Lore-Master of Rhovanion, moved his hand over the fixture and murmured words of magic until the mixture in the jar began to glow a furious blue, piercingly bright, and it reminded Alinor of her training with Yaeran and Eardaneth, when they would summon the glowing, starlit creatures to hunt and chase, or their missile-like pinecones.  
Yaeran handed the arrow to Radagast, and the young, obviously frightened Wizard ran towards the battle, making for an outcropping of boulders.   
The whistling, piercing signal of Aldariil’s sword rang out purely over the battlefield long before Radagast could manage to scramble to the top of the boulders, so the young Wizard did his best and flung the arrow upwards with all his strength.   
It was nowhere near high enough when Menelaudh soared past overhead, glancing off one of her great claws instead and sent spinning down into the battlefield to be broken beneath trampling feet.  
Alinor heard Balin curse and, not far from the outcropping of boulders, Gandalf paused from combat to whip unruly blonde hair from his face and throw his arms in the air at, what he deemed, ‘Radagast’s stupidity’.   
Radagast was obviously rendered horrorstruck.  
Balin and Yaeran immediately began to carefully make another missile.  
Slowly, Alinor turned back to the battle, drawing the sword that Elrohir had crafted for her. It wasn’t a suited for her as her mother’s lost sword had been, but it would do.   
She placed her feet carefully, hearing the crunching of the grass sharply and clearly as she passed over it listlessly.   
The closer she drew to the desperate, battling bodies of the armies, the more confusion and fear began to wrap about her heart.  
Something was calling to her, wordlessly. Something was drawing her forward, effortlessly.   
Invisible eyes burned into her body like smoldering prongs until she felt bared.  
She was stepping over bleeding bodies, ignoring cries for help as her mind focused on the power drawing her in, a familiar power, promising strength and vict—  
“Alinor Aldarion, Befriender of Dragons, you are not weak and frightened like your father, so grasp your blade and help us fight!”  
The loud, harsh voice jolted her free from the enamoring power calling to her, and Alinor found herself nearly in the center of the battlefield, unharmed.   
Aldaraen was standing in front of her, a ferocious gleam to his eyes, muscles rigid, holding either of her shoulders in a vicelike grip.   
She hadn’t even seen him approach, much less stop her.  
“Ada—I--!” she began, and she felt on the verge of tears.  
She couldn’t believe herself. She had dreamed of fighting beside her father in glory, and now, here she was, about to cry. Alinor SkyDancer…was about to cry…on the battlefield.   
“I know you’re scared, for I am, as well, precious one. But you are not me,” Aldaraen shook his head, emphasizing the last two words, “The SnowDrake Khelekmin is joined to my mind in a way I can only ignore with magic. Do not let a lowly, fallen Maia take you away with foolish spells. You are stronger than I.”  
Her father took a moment to slay an Orc that besieged them before turning back and saying almost angrily,   
“You must fight past it, Ali’. Do not answer the call of fear, as I did time and time again in my youth!”   
“He wants me!” Alinor could find no other words to describe her battle, but her father grasped her cheeks in his fingers to draw her eyes again, saying furiously, yet with love-filled eyes,  
“You fought for a position among the ranks on this battlefield, my Lieutenant of the Guard. It is not time to be a maiden now. We need Alinor back.”  
Alinor prepared to explain herself uselessly again, as was the habit of She-Elves, she suddenly realized, but her father silenced her again, shouting above the roar of the battle,  
“I now understand why the Valar led you to Menelaudh within the Fire-Mountain, my daughter…Because you have a dragoness within your heart. Your mother and I, your friends, your teachers…we have all attempted to tame the dragon within you, your fiery spirit gifted to you, but, by the Valar, Alinor, if you would not obey the calling of your parents, then you will not obey the calling of a Necromancer! I let the SnowDrake devour the dragon within my heart, do not let that accursed Maia do the same to you.”   
Alinor was quiet, surprised at her father’s words, lost in his emotional sapphire eyes as he stared at her desperately yet calmly, his entire demeanor a conflict.  
He finally shook his head and finished, “Free the dragon within your heart, my SkyDancer! Now go find the one that completes you.”  
~  
Elrohir gasped when the incredibly swift Avari before him nearly cut his throat with a gleaming dagger, only missing the mortal wound by throwing himself backwards.   
An Elf caught him and Elrohir looked in dismay over his shoulder only to see Haldir, staring forward and assessing this new challenge.  
The Lorien Elf freed himself from Elrohir and began a practiced series of movements.   
Elrohir prepared to back him up, but before he could begin, Alinor cut in before him, fighting beside her old training companion with a beautiful ease.   
Their movements were obviously meant to be paired and Elrohir was impressed.   
There was something strange and furious about his wife’s movements, her eyes gleaming, focusing only on her enemy.   
He wondered what had come over her, but, at the moment, it would keep them alive.  
~  
Eardaneth watched his grown students, Haldir and Alinor, fighting together as fiercely as he had once with Oropher.  
Pride swelled in his chest at their success.   
Eardaneth finished off several assailants before searching the battlefield for his son, blowing auburn hair from his eyes.   
Earathran was faring just fine, fighting alongside the undeceived Avari leader, Itryd.   
Besides Eardaneth, Earathran was the only other Elf upon the battlefield that stood as tall, if not taller, than the Avari Elves.  
It made him rather proud.  
Several of the deceived Avari almost appeared Orcish, that far along in their deception and corruption they had progressed.   
Nonetheless, there were several moments in which an Avari wearing a skyblue scarf about his arm turned on his ally, barely stopping himself from attack when recognizing the scarf the other wore.  
Eardaneth hoped that such confusion wouldn’t end in unnecessary death…and also that the deceived Avari wouldn’t catch onto the trick, surprised as they seemed to appear at their own kind’s attack with the Mirkwood, Rivendell and Lorien Elves.  
He doubted the deceived Avari would steal the scarves in trickery, they did seem, after all, preoccupied in a dangerous, strange sort of way.   
Almost like bees answering to their Queen.   
Eardaneth knew that Sauron was here, somewhere atop the Fire-Mountain, slowly descending the mountainside to join the fray in witchcraft.   
Once the fallen Maia had taken to the battlefield, Eardaneth wondered what would stop him.  
~  
Raebidus wasn’t really fighting, preferring to scramble out of the way of battling Elves and Orcs instead, his eyes wide as he searched the bloodying field for his brother.  
Something told him that if he could find his brother, Garrik, and, by use of the magic he had learned, bring him back to his own mind, that the battle might be more in their favor…  
An Orc lunged for him, brandishing his sword, and Raebidus couldn’t draw his weapon swiftly enough.  
Before the monster could touch him, however, Burz, Lynndor’s massive black Warg, completely bowled the Orc over, finishing him off quickly.  
Burz turned on Raebidus with stained, bared fangs, yellow eyes aglow, and Raebidus held his hands up, but the Warg wagged his tail once and fell in behind him.  
Raebidus thought his heart would explode in relief as he began moving through the battling forms, once more, the black Warg guarding his back.  
He was a lucky Man.  
~  
Even though her rage and willpower were effectively keeping the intriguing probe of Sauron’s thought away from her mind, Alinor could still feel its tingling, crawling presence, like small insects all over her body.  
She had long since fallen into a rhythm with Haldir, fearless with her old companion at her side, her swiftness and agility matching his strength and stature. She had become separated from her husband, but had heard his furious war cries mixed with his twin’s, and had known that they were together.   
Her mind now wandered, even as she faced a group of corrupted Avari beside her friend, to how Sauron might be defeated.   
She had barely allowed the thought of the Maia into her mind when she heard a familiar, reptilian scream, mixed with the furious curses of her younger brother.  
She and Haldir glanced upwards in time to see the FireDrake, locked with a smaller, opposing Drake, plummeting towards the earth in a tangle of claws and wings.  
The dragons crashed to the ground, spraying dirt in all directions.   
Alinor felt it in her eyes, her nose, her ears, but then a whipping, glittering black tail snapped her direction, and everything went black….again.  
But only momentarily.  
In the matter of moments, she clearly saw her mother’s broken body in the courtyard of Mirkwood, lifeless, water-logged, and pale.   
Time seemed to fly backwards; She saw her mother kissing a newly born Aldariil’s head, running backwards through the forests, followed by her command of Rangers, kissing her father happily, before she focused on a memory that suddenly became quite clear to her.  
Alinor was very small, just learning to read, and she held a book on her bed concerning the histories and battles of their ancestors. Faerlin was at her side, pointing at difficult words and lovingly helping her to pronunciate them correctly.  
Small Alinor looked up curiously, green eyes skeptical as she asked, “I don’t understand. If ‘bad guys’ can just be spirited back by a Necromancer or a conjurer of spirits, then why are they so afraid to die?”  
“Because, sweet one,” Faerlin answered, tapping her daughter’s small nose with a smile, “Deep in their heart, the evil ones know that they are much, much more powerful in the flesh. When they become spirit, they rely on others to do their physical work, they rely on others to believe in them, and they—“  
Aldaraen grasped his wife’s waist from behind to startle her, having snuck up from behind, and laughed above her surprised yelp, “Do not frighten little Ali’ before bed, Melamin!”   
“I merely answer a question,” Faerlin laughed after shoving her husband away with a foot in his stomach, “It is true! Evil kings know that they hold more power in the flesh!”  
Her memories ran forward again, watching her mother painting or baking or teaching her brother how to dance, until, once again, they came to a stop at her lifeless body, soft lips slack.  
Alinor furiously tore free from these memories, anger at all the useless murdering, slaughtering and destruction that Sauron had worked upon her family…but she also held a curious sense of triumph, and, she knew, the formulations of revenge.  
It was certainly a foolish idea but with the rage that bubbled in her heart, mind and spirit, Alinor didn’t care.   
If she couldn’t kill the Maia, she would make his life, his plottings, his world, that much more hideous, disconcerting, and difficult.  
She opened her mind to him then, a dreadful mistake, and followed his touch, answering his call…  
Searching for the one that had torn apart her family and friends in every way possible and destroyed the She-Elf that she had once been.   
~~~


	23. Kin ~ Chapter 22

Aldaraen ended the life of the Avari before him, his skin so white that blue veins were visible, before standing on his toes to search for his daughter.  
Menelaudh flew past overhead and he briefly heard his son screaming in fury as they pursued a young Drake.  
Faerlin would kill him for allowing their Elflings to participate in such an event.  
Alinor was nowhere to be seen, but Aldaraen had only a moment to worry when something shockingly heavy clipped his shoulder and sent him reeling to the ground.  
Wielding his sword, he threw his weight onto his hand and vaulted back to his feet, turning to meet his enemy, but the massive Orc before him was swifter, swinging his immense mace to split Aldaraen’s skull.  
The weapon collided with his sword and Aldaraen felt his heart miss a beat when the hilt left his palm with the immense force, sending his blade spinning away.  
He knew that he was defenseless against the Orc, much less his massive weapon, and he backed away uselessly as the Orc lifted his arms over his head.   
Aldaraen knew he wouldn’t get out of the way in time, and he had just begun to think that he would see his deceased wife quite sooner than he had expected when the tip of a gleaming sword thrust forward through his enemy’s chest.   
A silvery-haired Elf threw the Orc aside before leaping over Aldaraen and, almost immediately, a stony-eyed Avari fell lifelessly to the ground, blood soaking his black tunic.  
Hands grasped Aldaraen under the armpits and helped him to his feet, shoving his sword back in his hand.  
“Just like always. Some things never change, do they?”   
Aldaraen whirled about in surprise at his elder brother’s slightly amused voice, staring at Thranduil in wide-eyed shock.  
“I always arrive at the most appropriate of moments. Try to keep your head next time, brother,” Thranduil gave him that valiant, warrior-esque smile that differentiated the two brothers so distinctively before turning, wielding his sword, and running towards the thick of the battle.  
Aldaraen stood where he was, still in shock, as he was drowned in the deafening roars and battle horns of the Mirkwood Guard that had not followed Yaeran and Eardaneth. They rushed past him on all sides after their King, drawing their blades unanimously in one massive, ringing hiss of perfected steel.  
His confusion lasted only a moment as their odds against their enemy rose and Aldaraen smiled in triumph, surrounded by a familiar people, and he joined his voice to the others’, charging with them.   
There would be no defeat today.  
Not with all of Mirkwood’s wrath on the battlefield.  
~~~  
Many of the Elves that had followed Yaeran and Eardaneth joined the rushing sweep of their newly arrived comrades, cutting down Avari and Orc easily.   
Garrik watched from his surveillance perch slightly up the Fire-Mountain, face smeared with blood and his thoughts roaring in confusion, something massive driving him with black magic to triumph over every enemy that came his way.  
He held the curved sword Aldaraen had crafted him so many years ago in his hand, furious at the well-coordinated drive into his army, and he screamed a cryptic language that he himself did not understand, thrusting his sword forward towards the spear-heading Mirkwood Guard.  
Thusly summoned, Khelekmin’s mighty wing flaps pushed tall pines over at nearly right angles as the massive SnowDrake rose above the tree-line, his single, pale eye glaring down at the new threat.  
The dragon soared towards them and, as he passed over their heads, loosed a molten jet of blue fire, separating their ranks as several Elves fled for their lives.  
Garrik watched in satisfaction, but Khelekmin’s stream was interrupted when a smaller SnowDrake slammed into his side, tearing at his wings with claws.  
Khelekmin turned and lunged for the younger SnowDrake’s throat, but he back-flapped, expertly agile in the air in his youth, and sped away, drawing the larger dragon behind him.  
There were screams of agony below him but Garrik still felt immense fury.   
Oh how the tides would turn if those two Drakes were killed…  
He wasn’t sure how he knew the dragoness’ name, Menelaudh, as she soared past, dragging Orcs off the side of the Fire-Mountain with her claws as she went, but Garrik knew she had to be slain, along with the young Elf on her back that was strengthening her with joined magic.   
He was just beginning to make his way down the Fire-Mountain, seeing as several of the Avari that had not been corrupted, wearing sky-blue scarves, were beginning to break past the barrier below him, when a stinging pain tore through his arm and chest and he found himself kneeling on the ground from a dreadful blow.  
An arrow stuck in his shoulder, blood welling about the wound, but, almost unconsciously and in a dreamlike state, Garrik pulled the shaft from his shoulder calmly and hissed a few words, watching as the wound healed itself almost entirely, superficially.   
It was nice to be powerful.  
With a deafening roar and great gusts of wind, Torgin’s massive bulk soared past overhead and treaded air, the black cloaked, slender figure of Sauron resting easily, almost other-worldly, upon his back.   
Garrik knew that he was looking down upon him, could feel the burning eyes scorching into his soul, and he followed the sudden urge that wrapped about him, dragging him downwards towards the battle.  
With a few flaps, Torgin continued forward, making his way towards the young SnowDrake that had now lost Khelekmin and was pelting Orcs with blue fire.   
Garrik turned his eyes away, letting the force that had descended upon him lead him forward and guide his movements, dispatching enemies with surprising strength and speed.   
He stood taller than most, even in his youth, and he pulled his facial covering away from his mouth to have better air, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he strode forward calmly and soldiers from both sides backed out of his way, feeling the battle in slow-motion, sword in hand and black cloak billowing behind him, following his Master’s call.  
~~~  
Raebidus threw himself behind a boulder when Khelekmin passed by uncomfortably close to the ground, streaming fire.  
The Man’s red hair whipped in the stifling heat and he watched the hairs on his arms curl.  
Just as it was growing to be unbearable, Khelekmin passed on, leaving scorched corpses behind.   
The ground and small rocks shook beneath his boots and Raebidus realized that Khelekmin had landed and was walking.  
The thought of what his father had raised sickened him, but also gave him a sliver of hope.   
Since he was Raebdon’s son, should he not have first place in the SnowDrake’s impressionistic mind..? Could he not defeat the witchcraft holding the dragon’s mind and free him from Sauron’s grasp?  
After knowing Menelaudh and, now, Hyansul, Raebidus was quite sure that Khelekmin could not only be helped, but do some good, as well.  
He crept cautiously about the boulder and peered around it until he could see the hind end of the SnowDrake walking slowly towards a group of battling soldiers.   
Raebidus was itching to attempt and touch the SnowDrake’s mind, but a great, sickening fear withheld him and he fell back, pressing against the boulder and forcing his breathing to slow.  
What if it all went wrong… Khelekmin would turn and slaughter him easily, knowing exactly where he was, what he thought… to an extent…  
Raebidus knew he was perhaps being cowardly, valuing his life over the countless others Khelekmin stole with a single stream of blue fire… but was that so bad.  
Something that Raebidus was sure that he alone on the entire battlefield realized, was that Khelekmin had been very close to Vilna, Garrik’s mother, and Raebidus was very certain that Garrik was not drawing his power from Sauron, perhaps his orders, but not his power. He drew his power from Khelekmin through joined magic.   
If Raebidus killed Khelekmin, perhaps he could save Garrik…or weaken him…but something screamed against killing the SnowDrake.   
Raebidus felt like an idiot, but the bond that he felt to the SnowDrake, thanks to his father, was undeniably strong, and if there was a chance to save the dragon, then he wished to do it.  
He began walking slowly after the SnowDrake, using cover wherever possible, his heartbeat quickening until he could hear it clicking in his ears, and prepared his mind for possibly the stupidest action of his life besides leaving his brother behind in Mirkwood.  
~~~  
Torgin folded his wings against his sides, arrowing towards Khelekmin’s son and the small Elf upon his back.  
Hyansul was aware of his attack, however, and turned himself gracefully out of the way as the much larger MountainDrake slashed past, Athey clutching onto his back.   
The half Avari, half Silvan Elf, Athey, had downed one Drake and lost more than three arrows so far.   
He had opted to catch the missiles and pass them to Aldariil, the much better Dragonback archer, instead of wasting them.  
Hyansul now found that to be a mistake that could cost them dearly.  
Torgin swooped back for another pass, roaring challengingly, and Athey’s ears ringed.   
For a moment, he realized that was airborne with two fighting dragons…and he wondered why he had agreed to such an arrangement.  
Glittering white scales exploded in the air and Hyansul thundered.   
Athey could see dark blood dripping down the SnowDrake’s pure white shoulder, and he focused his magic on the wound, forcing himself to concentrate on the proper healing words.  
Before he could finish, Torgin had crashed down on top of Hyansul, his massive weight buckling the smaller dragon’s wings as they rushed towards the ground.  
Athey more than lost his stomach, but he managed to look upwards, seeing a curved sword extended from Torgin’s side for a brief second. It almost looked like it was from Mirkwood, or similar fashion, small and weighted for a She-Elf, and Athey was confused. He didn’t know who was mounted upon the MountainDrake, but he didn’t care, only concerned about Hyansul’s frantic roars and snapping jaws, and the rapidly approaching ground.  
Athey drew his own sword and stared upwards again with narrowed, golden eyes, before shoving the slender blade at an angle, up and beneath several small scales in Torgin’s massive claw.  
The MountainDrake screamed and spread his wings defensively, spasmodically, and Hyansul was freed in time to slow their descent enough for a survivable, yet violent, landing.   
His skull dug into the earth, dirt spraying into his nostrils, and Hyansul planted his claws in front of him to stop his sliding.   
Athey flipped well over his head and disappeared in a river that ran beside a cave’s entrance…  
He had been born there, Hyansul realized in surprise, understanding the strange connection and pull he felt to the Fire-Mountain, but his view of the gaping cavern entrance was concealed when Torgin crashed down before him and immediately charged him.  
Hyansul had time to rear upwards, suddenly missing Athey’s strengthening magic, and took Torgin’s charge in full force.  
Dark magic was attacking his body, feeling like a thousand tiny spears stabbing against him, making it difficult to concentrate on avoiding mortal blows from the larger dragon.   
Torgin’s jaws gaped to blast fire, even though Hyansul’s SnowDrake scales were more than suited to deflect, but Menelaudh’s glittering black bulk crashed down atop the MountainDrake, snapping his maw closed with a strange ‘clump’.  
Torgin wheeled around, his flank facing his two enemies as he gathered his bearing, and Hyansul had an unchallenged view of the confident, cloaked figure on the MountainDrake’s back.  
He knew it was Sauron, he didn’t need his nest-mate to tell him so, when the Maia furiously drew back his hood, revealing a strangely beautiful, yet masculine face, golden hair, and golden-amber eyes to drown within.  
Hyansul realized he was caught in some spell, seeing as the Maia was staring at him with such ferocity.   
The SnowDrake broke free consciously just as Aldariil, standing fearlessly between Menelaudh’s shoulders, screamed Elven words of light and the FireDrake loosed a magnificent stream of crimson fire.   
The Maia threw his arms wide with cryptic words of his own and the flames were deflected by what appeared to be an invisible wall, but Aldariil finished his singsong chant and a brilliant surge of white light slammed almost physically against the darkness surrounding the fallen Maia and MountainDrake.  
The massive spell depleted Aldariil, who slumped forward in exhaustion, but Torgin had stumbled back in surprise.   
The shock at the young Elf’s great power, combined with the FireDrake’s, abolished whatever protection Sauron had in place, and the Maia felt himself thrown from Torgin’s back.  
He was frantic for grace, but he fell hard against the ground and rolled with the impact.  
Torgin seemed to be oblivious of his rider’s dismount, for he roared and threw his weight forward to slam into Menelaudh, Hyansul rushing to protect his sister.  
Menelaudh knew that Aldariil was unconscious upon her back, and she felt his small body slip away as she fought Torgin, but there was nothing she could do.  
He fell the long distance to the ground, limply, and landed heavily on his back.   
Menelaudh thought she could hear his teeth click in his skull in her paranoid attunement, but Aldariil almost immediately began to crawl out of the way of the battling dragons, holding an arm tightly against his chest.  
For the moment, Menelaudh turned her attentions to the massive MountainDrake assailing her.  
“Without your dragon, boy, you are nothing.”  
Aldariil looked up in alarm to see the flesh-body of the fallen Maia before him, standing with legs slightly apart, handsome face, after such an event, eerily clean and flawless.  
“The young ones always waste their strength on one, massive heave of magic. Too bad it didn’t have quite the effect you wished for,” Sauron smiled down at him calmly, “Tis’ odd how much trouble your family has given me. I believe I’ll do this accursed land a favor and end the bloody circus now.”  
Aldariil was too shocked, at the moment, to find himself before, much less addressed by, Sauron, to react swiftly enough.  
The Maia hissed several words and something that felt like the weight of a boulder crushed down on Aldariil’s chest.   
He squirmed uselessly against the magic, lost in Sauron’s golden-amber eyes staring down at him calmly, watching him die.   
He had always considered himself a good warrior, but Sauron’s victory had been so…easy.  
It unsettled Aldariil so much that he felt his lips move against their own accord and Sauron flinched as if assaulted by an invisible force, the weight on Aldariil’s chest lifting slightly.  
He began to struggle to his feet but Sauron’s boot caught him in the side of the head so hard that Aldariil’s world went momentarily black. Another blow landed on his ribs.  
He finally understood where the terrible marks that had dappled his sister’s body had come from.  
When his vision cleared, Sauron was screaming something, but it was entirely lost in the deafening roar of one of the dragons.   
Normally, the call of a Drake would have strengthened Aldariil and given him courage, but he saw the black cloud of lethal magic stirring into life before Sauron, and he threw his arm up uselessly before him in last defense.  
The witchcraft attacked his body in fury, slow death no longer an option, and Aldariil felt himself contort, twisting his form this way and that in agony and deafening himself in his own bloodcurdling scream.  
“You suffer for your sister’s malcontent,” the Maia’s beautifully smooth voice ran through his head like silk, making the pain worse until Aldariil felt as if his skull would split open.  
An incredible probe of magic pierced his body just as painfully, yet peeling away at the witchcraft and Aldariil opened his eyes in time to see Menelaudh’s black claw slam into the fallen Maia and send him reeling to only the Valar knew where.  
The torturous witchcraft ended immediately, and Menelaudh’s massive black head lowered before him, blurry, for his vision was painful.   
Her icy blue eyes were stricken in grief and concern, judging whether he was still alive, Aldariil knew, so he gave her a small smile, feeling entirely broken on the inside and unable to move.  
Aldariil smelled something strange and focused on the blackened thing lying before his face until he realized it was his arm. It appeared as if he had been…burned?   
Whatever the witchcraft had done was horrendous beyond belief and Aldariil wondered why he was alive.  
A smaller Drake suddenly landed behind Menelaudh and grasped her rear leg in its jaws, drawing a painful scream from the FireDrake a mere meter before his face as she was dragged backwards.  
The young dragoness gave him one final look of utter grief before turning on her assailant, and Aldariil wondered what the matter was.  
His clothes were in tatters as if ravaged by the most ravenous moths in all of Arda, blackened, as well.  
The battling Drakes before him were blurry and he felt as if they were quieter than they should be, moving in slow motion.  
Two furry, black legs stepped before his face and Aldariil closed his eyes, hoping that whatever was about the take his life would do it quickly.  
What…would his mother say right now?  
“Aldariil!”  
The furious scream of his name was horrifically similar to his mother’s voice, and the instinctive urge to respond caused his blue eyes to open wide.  
“Aldariil, get up! You mustn’t die, young one!”   
The She-Elf bent over him was foggy, but she fawn-colored hair and wore the uniform of the Mirkwood Rangers.  
“Mama..?” he squeaked, embarrassed when his voice cracked, but the She-Elf’s hand touched his cheek gently and replied, strongly yet compassionately,  
“I am not your mother, lad. It is Lynndor Beast-Friend. Do you not remember me?”  
Memories surged back to Aldariil and he suddenly remembered the battle raging about him, and Lynndor’s face abruptly became quite clear before him, smeared with blood and grime.  
A massive black Warg leaned over his face and drug his tongue over his cheek, which burned terribly.  
“Men—Menelaudh,” Aldariil grunted, struggling to his knees, but he saw his hands, then, charred black with oozy, raw red skin in small patches, and he froze.  
“You cannot ride that dragon, are you insane?” Lynndor asked furiously, pointing towards the two dragons that were tearing at each other viciously, “You will die! Only adrenalin makes you feel this way!”  
Aldariil stared at her in confusion, suddenly forgetting what adrenalin was, and felt his knees give way.   
Lynndor was surprisingly strong, catching his taller, heavier body in her arms and keeping him upright.  
His mouth was smothered in black fur and Aldariil realized that he was face-down on one of the Warg’s backs.   
“Menelaudh,” he moaned again, feeling betrayal and guilt well in his chest when he heard the FireDrake’s higher-pitched roar tear across the battlefield, but he slipped into darkness, feeling healing spells wrap about his body from Lynndor’s concentration.  
~~~  
Elrohir ducked behind a boulder as a shower of arrows plinked harmlessly off of the stone, a few digging into the ground near his hands around his shelter.   
An Elf he had been fighting alongside fell lifelessly to the ground, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his slack mouth and staining the beautiful blue scarf about his arm a strange purple color.   
Elrohir took a moment to wonder that the Avari had fallen by his own People’s arrow, their enemies poisoned by the Necromancer’s witchcraft.  
Thinking on the horrors wrought by the fallen Maia, Elrohir abruptly remembered Alinor, realizing that she had not followed him after their exchange in words.  
He wiped blood from his eyes and stood, scanning the battlefield below the outcropping he had battled upwards upon and claimed with several other Mirkwood Elves, whose war-screams never stopped.   
His twin brother was running towards him up the steep incline, yelling, but Elrohir didn’t hear him, feeling his vision tunnel in fear and being deafened by what seemed like the never ceasing screams of battling dragons.  
Elladan finally reached him, still yelling, it seemed, directly into his ear, but it was only when his twin grasped his shoulder to yank him around that he listened to his words, his brother pointing towards the cliffs of the Fire-Mountain and shouting vehemently,   
“—appreciate it if you would speak some sense into your wife and tell her that she CANNOT engage the Maia on her own! She has not the strength nor the power in magic to do so--!”   
“WHERE IS SHE?!” Elrohir roared over his brother’s rambling, but Elladan didn’t seem to mind, pointing again towards the rising Fire-Mountain.  
Elrohir didn’t see Sauron anywhere, but he saw Alinor’s pale blonde hair against the rather dark landscape of the battlefield and Fire-Mountain quite a long distance away, the She-Elf approaching it slowly as if in a trance, holding her sword out at her side.  
“I told you not to marry into those Mirkwood Elves, Elrohir. They’re as bad as Men,” Elladan said, but Elrohir ignored him, leaping off of the ledge he was upon and landing lightly on the bloody ground below, bounding over bodies as he made his way towards Alinor.   
He reached the thick of the fighting, which substantially slowed his pace, to his anger, and he emptied his wrath upon any enemy that dared engage him, struggling to see over their heads and find his wife.  
~~~  
Eardaneth narrowed his eyes in concentration, watching as Balin poured carefully mixed powder into the small canister he held, then his elder brother, Yaeran, sealed it and murmured powerful words, the contents beginning to glow a fierce blue within.   
Eardaneth noticed with shock that his hands were trembling slightly, and he knew that his brother noticed, as well, for he looked at him worriedly.  
“Are you alright, SeaGaze?” he asked softly.   
Eardaneth was painfully aware that he was covered in blood while his brother remained spotlessly clean, having not joined the fray yet and concentrating his great knowledge of magic on their defenses against the Drakes.  
“Yes,” he answered shortly, but was suddenly overwhelmed by a fear, not for his own life, but the life of his aged, elder brother, aptly named the Quiet since he was an Elfling, so he added, “Where is your sword, Yaeran?”  
“I do not have one,” Yaeran lifted his almost grey gaze to his brother’s brilliant sapphire eyes, “I do have a greater power than most, and that will see me through. Do not concern yourself over me.”  
He handed the completed arrow to Radagast, who had been listening softly, his young, still slightly rounded face frightened.  
“We’re running low on supplies,” Balin observed after the brown Wizard had jogged away, and Yaeran lifted his calm gaze to the sky, replying evenly,  
“And they run low on dragons, I see.”  
“They are riderless!”  
Radagast’s cry, as he ran back towards them, was horrified, and Eardaneth whirled about to face him with a sinking stomach.  
“Aldariil and Athey are gone! Our dragons have no one upon their back!”  
Yaeran exchanged a grieved glance with Eardaneth before answering, “They’re probably alright. Calm yourself, my young friend. Save that arrow then. We only have enough powder for one or two more arrows.”  
“How many more dragons are there,” Balin asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.  
Yaeran scanned the battlefield, already littered with several hundred corpses. The dead bodies of the Drakes lay twisted in odd angles upon the ground, most with missing heads, their wings like strange dead branches of a fallen tree.  
He counted them hastily before nodding in satisfaction, saying, “Our young Prince Aldariil and Athey seem to have a true aim. I would say two or three of the small Drakes, and the white SnowDrake. Sauron’s mount, the reddish one, there.”  
Sauron was no longer on Torgin’s back, it appeared, and Yaeran wondered where the fleshed Maia had gone.  
“My lord Yaeran, Eardaneth!”   
Maedhros’ sons turned in equal surprise when they recognized the voice of Thranduil, the young King they had practically raised alongside his slain father.   
Eardaneth couldn’t help remaining straight, in shock, when the young King grasped him in a tight hug before doing the same to Yaeran.   
“Forgive me, for I was blind in my hate. I allowed my anger to turn me against the Elves who cared for me as a son, being a father to my younger brother and I when Oropher was slain. I was selfish, and I can only beg for your forgiveness. I separated our People,” Thranduil kneeled before them with lowered eyes, his words spilling out quickly, and Eardaneth thought he suddenly looked his age- Very young, and very tired.  
“Thranduil, we understand why your heart is grieved, young one, but, truly, I cannot be more glad to see you…more importantly, that you have come to your senses,” Yaeran smiled at him affectionately, and Thranduil looked up in surprise as if having expected some form of rebuke.  
“Right, well, you and I have more to settle after this mess is sorted out,” Eardaneth said sternly, although he couldn’t keep the small smile from his face, pulling the younger Elf up by the arm. He felt very thin and Eardaneth sighed, only hoping that perhaps through this war, if he survived, his vengeance might be sated, and the young King would care for himself once more.  
He was surprised when Thranduil turned on his heel, his vulnerable expression melting away, and he began striding back towards the battling armies, seeming satisfied with his apology, and Yaeran called after him,  
“Where are you going? Remain with us as King—“  
“I will not stand aside whilst my People fight an Enemy my father’s compassion allowed to grow beyond control. It is my duty to clean this mess,” Thranduil replied, then drew his curved sword and flipped it in his hand, finishing, “I have an Avari King to kill.”  
With that, the young King of Mirkwood departed, briefly silhouetted by an explosion of flames as Torgin, the massive Mountain-Drake, assaulted a group of Elves under Rivendell’s crest.  
He was lost from sight quite sooner than Eardaneth expected.  
~~~  
Alinor continued to trudge forward, the sword Elrohir had crafted for her growing heavy in her hand.   
It had never been properly weighted and she missed her mother’s sword, given to her by her father.  
She raised her eyes and realized she was nearly to the old cave with she had raised Menelaudh in, having visited it nearly every day. All the greenery had vanished in the turmoil of war and dragon fire.  
She slipped in the bloody mud, going uphill at a steep incline, and realized she had fallen into a massive gouge left by the battling dragons. She yelled in frustration as she struggled to clamber free from the small ravine, her raiment’s heavy with mud.  
A sudden, gentle tug at her mind made her pause, however, staring forward through the writhing, twisting bodies of the battling armies, engaged almost in a strange, yet coordinated dance.   
She knew Sauron was near, but she could not see him.   
She crawled forward until she was fully free of the muddy ravine, but froze when she saw a pair of dirty black boots walking towards her slowly, purposefully, the sharpened tip of a blade belonging to the Royal House of Mirkwood nearly dragging along the ground beside them, but never touching the mud.  
Her face was smeared with mud, but she looked up slowly in dismay and wiped the grime from her emerald gaze to stare up at Garrik when he stopped before her, looking down at her with cold black eyes.  
“You always did find a way to get absolutely filthy at the worst of times. Get up,” he said almost monotonously, and the empty sound of his once very emotional voice made Alinor sick to her stomach, so much so that she temporarily forgot Sauron entirely.  
“What has he done to you?” she spat, surprised when she felt slight irritation beginning to blossom in her chest, as if dealing with an obstinate child.   
“Showed me the truth,” Garrik smiled at her strangely and held his arms out.  
The young Avari was splattered with blood, something Alinor believed she would never see, but she could still see the light dappling of his freckles. He was far more muscular than she last remembered, and with the circlet of the Avari upon his brow, he looked very grown, indeed.  
“Garrik, you are deceived,” she said, although she held her sword tightly in both of her hands, not feeling comfortable with the strange light that shone within his eyes.  
“No, SkyDancer. You deceived me! Your family deceived me! You gave your love, MY love, to another!” he shouted, his voice suddenly broken in pain, and Alinor felt her own uneasiness shoot to a peak, responding just as loudly,  
“I did not realize your affection until too late, Garrik! I am sorry! I am sorry that you are hurt, but… you cannot say that I did it to drive you to… to THIS, Garrik! What about Faerlin? You know she loved you!”  
“I told you when next we met, one of us would not live to see another sunrise,” Garrik brandished his sword, and Alinor felt her stomach fall until she felt like would vomit, “Let us settle this, SkyDancer. The Valar have brought our fates together at last.”  
She brandished her sword, as well, with shaking hands, remembering the countless hours she had spent play-fighting with the Avari before her, honing their skills together.  
“Garrik. I am so sorry for leaving,” she whispered, channeling as much honesty and affection towards the Avari as she might, but she was met only with a wall of raging anger and grief, fear, almost identical to that which she had felt within Sauron, “Garrik, your heart is broken. If only I could mend it and steal you back from the Necromancer’s clutches. You know not what you are doing.”   
“Those who deceive will die, in the end, from what they shall reap,” Garrik snarled, lowering his head slightly and developing a somewhat fiercer, more animalistic stance.   
Alinor knew she couldn’t kill him, her arms and legs were already shaking too badly, and she felt a tear trace a dirty trail down her cheek.   
“Garrik, I loved you as a brother. You were my best friend! Do not do this! You are not the Enemy!” she yelled at him, and Garrik smiled at her coldly, saying quietly,  
“You believe that you can save me, the Avari, if you kill Sauron? You are sadly mistaken, silly maiden. The Avari answer to me.”  
“Release him!” she screamed suddenly, in fury, feeling at the end of her rope, and she pointed angrily at Garrik, finishing, “This is not who you are, StarGazer! If I can escape the clutches of the Necromancer, then so too can you!”   
Garrik paused, a look of uncertainty passing through his eyes for the briefest of moments before being concealed once more, and he brandished his weapon with a defiant yell.  
“I will not harm you further!” Alinor screamed at him, chocking on her own sob, and she threw her sword away as Garrik lunged forward, standing stubbornly still.  
She heard Elrohir’s muffled, horrified scream, and saw stars when her husband slammed into her side and carried them both off of their feet and sliding several meters down the muddy incline, his body covering her protectively.  
She felt something warm against her side, and when Elrohir struggled away from her, she saw his arm turning crimson from blood.  
“Elrohir!” she felt overwhelming fear descend on her when she realized he had been wounded upon her behalf, but he only stared at her in shock, realizing he had almost seen her killed before his very eyes. She could tell he was terribly frightened, and she began to reach forward, but Elrond’s son turned with sword raised in time to catch Garrik’s downward strike, having leapt after them.  
Alinor felt panic creeping into her mind, blinding her, but she forced it away, clawing her way back up the muddy incline in search for her sword. The situation was different now, and her head began to clear. Her husband was now in danger, and she was driven to aid him, easily putting him before her past relationship with Garrik.  
The two young Elves exchanged sword blows so swiftly and violently, almost equally matched in power and strength, that several soldiers, quite a distance away, took a few moments to stare at them, aware that something of great matter was being settled.  
With all his strength, feeling the same surge of power that he had when casting Sauron out of Alinor, Elrohir swung at Garrik, their blades creating a splash of sparks upon contact, and Elrohir stumbled backwards a few steps, shocked that Garrik remained upright.  
“Who are you?” Garrik looked almost humorously confused, tilting his head and wiping at a trickle of blood that ran from his nose before staring fixedly at his opponent, “I sense great power within you. The power of the Maia.”  
“I am Elrohir StarRider, and I am her husband!” Elrohir shouted furiously, “NOT Haldir!”   
Alinor surprised herself when she snorted in stupid amusement.  
“That was a lie too, I see,” Garrik didn’t seem to care, sizing up his opponent carefully, having sensed a greater, abnormal within the Elf before him, “You will die with the She-Elf you stole from me.”  
“I stole nothing.”   
Alinor knew that Garrik had not turned this way from her rejection alone, and it made her sad, ill. Abandonment, fear, the murder of innocents, loss of loved ones…It had all taken its murderous toll, and the lying, deceiving art of Sauron did not help.  
There was a brilliant flash of light that drew Alinor from her dazed thoughts, and she realized that the two empowered Elves had begun battling with magic, as well.  
With a breaking heart, brandishing her sword, Alinor knew that whomever Garrik had been was lost, and there was no bringing him back.  
She charged down the muddy mountainside.  
~~~  
Aldaraen watched as Menelaudh flapped past, low to the ground, as if searching for something, and he saw that Aldariil was no longer mounted upon her back.   
Horror struck him like a wall, making him dizzy, and he found himself staring towards the trees where the almost entirely hidden figures of Yaeran, Balin, and Eardaneth were moving about, seeming deep in debate, holding glowing arrows.   
He didn’t know what they were concerned about, but his attention was quickly drawn away when he was nearly knocked from his feet and the world was temporarily shadowed.  
Aldaraen slowly raised his eyes to see Khelekmin flapping slowly over him, drawing a deep breath.   
Aldaraen sprinted the other direction from pure instinct, feeling the searing hot air from the SnowDrake’s release of blue fire burning his skin, bringing back horrendous memories, and he tripped. He felt himself curl and cover his head in a fetal position until the onslaught was past.  
Several newly charred bodies littered the ground, but the Elves were learning quickly to flee as soon as the Drakes began slowing and sucking air.  
Elrond was bent over Elladan, lifting him in his arms, and Aldaraen felt a sense of dread, seeing horror taking shape over the other father’s face.  
Terror of his past, of the massive white dragon flying overhead, made his vision begin to spin, and Aldaraen clutched his head and grit his teeth, waiting until the panic attack passed so he could gather his thoughts once more.  
~~~  
Menelaudh followed the weak strain of her failing connection with Aldariil’s magic until she saw Lynndor jogging beside the large black Warg, the young Elf’s body slumped forward on its back, seemingly unconscious.  
With several flaps, she gained speed immediately until she was soaring swiftly towards the strange companions.  
Before she could reach them, however, several Orcs attacked the She-Elf and the Warg leapt to her aid with a howl, assaulting the confused Orcs.   
Aldariil slid from its back.   
He began struggling to rise weakly, slowly arriving back to a conscious state, but Menelaudh was swifter, not particularly caring about the She-Elf, who was faring quite well on her own, her thoughts set on Aldariil.  
Within a moment, she had swooped from the sky and grasped the struggling young Elf in her claw, rising high above the battlefield to search for a suitable shelter.  
She angled towards her old cavern, but glanced over her shoulder in irritation when she felt something graze her tail.  
The last two of the smaller Drakes were pursuing her and she roared a warning, only receiving defiant screams in return.  
She performed several acrobatic turns in the air until she had a sufficient lead ahead of them, diving abruptly for the waterfall entrance of the Fire-Mountain.  
She splashed into an ungraceful landing, using the water to help her make a swift quay, keeping the Elf pressed protectively against her chest. She hopped to the entrance and laid him carefully beyond the boulders, looking at him worriedly and saying,   
“Stay safe, small brother. I will return.”  
Aldariil nodded slowly, watching her massive black head disappear.   
Flames licked about the entrance to the cave, and he went momentarily deaf, hearing ringing in his ears, when all three dragons met in battle, roaring simultaneously.   
He briefly saw great, flapping silhouettes against the rim of the boulders blocking the cavern entrance. They must’ve collapsed while they were away in Mirkwood, or from the battling dragons earlier in the war that day.  
It was suddenly very quiet, and Aldariil knew that Menelaudh had lead them away from the Fire-Mountain.  
Stars speckled his vision once more and he leaned his head back slowly, his skin aching enough to make him cry where Sauron’s witchcraft had scorched him.   
He knew now that he was only alive thanks to Menelaudh’s shed scales, which he had crafted into armor, their amazing protection against fire and heat his only saving grace.  
At that moment, he realized how much like his father he was turning out to be.  
In more ways than she realized, Menelaudh was his guardian angel, and now she was battling two dragons alone without his strengthening magic or Drake-bombs, as he had come to think of them.   
For all her small, young size, she was a very brave dragoness.  
~~~  
Garrik had slipped at last and fallen further down the muddy mountainside.   
Elrohir stood with Alinor now, both holding their swords, mud-smeared and filthy, staring down at him.   
Elrohir’s chest was heaving, exhausted, Alinor knew. Her arms ached and her mind was spent. She just wanted to sit down and stare at the sky.  
No sooner did she have that thought did she hear a great roaring sound growing closer and closer. She looked to the sky in time to see Menelaudh, assaulted by two other dragons, descending towards them at a great rate, Hyansul flying towards them, as well, from across the battlefield.  
It was a horrific sight, and Alinor grasped for her husband’s arm to drag him away, but he was already running away, calling for her.  
She didn’t have the time to follow him, so she clambered back up the mountainside, baring her teeth as the Drakes crashed into the mud only a few meters behind her.   
Their tails were lashing, hitting the rock and sending shards of stone flying in all directions.   
Alinor flung herself into one of the old ruts made by the battling dragons, taking shelter as an explosion of flames swung widely in all directions.   
She prayed to the Valar that Elrohir was alright, and wondered if Garrik had gotten out of the way. He had been wounded in the side, although not too seriously.   
With the astonishing and frightening ability with magic that Garrik had seemed to acquire, Alinor was rather certain that he would heal it superficially anyway.  
The sound of the battling dragons grew distant as a familiar tug at her mind distracted her, filling her with a familiar hate as she sat in the cold mud.  
Sauron had destroyed Garrik, murdered Thranduil’s wife, her mother, and countless others…   
This war was entirely HIS fault, and now her loved ones were dying for it.  
With a snarl, curling her lip, Alinor wiped her hair out of her face, and clawed back out of the dragon-rut, following the tug of witchcraft back up the Fire-Mountain, unable to cast the memory from her mind of the blonde-haired, amber-eyed Maia, appearing as an Elf, with that self-confident smirk that drove her crazy.  
If only Sauron could know that she was answering his witchcraft in anger, not obedience, then that smirk would quickly change, she was quite sure.  
~~~  
Aldaraen wasn’t quite sure what he was doing as he sprinted as fast as he could towards Yaeran, Eardaneth and Balin, who were watching him approach with wary eyes.  
He knew he must look a sight. Covered in mud, blood and grime, eyes frantic.  
“Aldaraen? I—I didn’t even recognize you,” Eardaneth was staring at him, releasing his hand from his sword hilt, but before he could question him further, Aldaraen grasped one of the glowing arrows from Yaeran, leaving only a small amount left. He prepared to run away again, but Eardaneth grasped his shoulder, stopping him, and shouted, “Aldaraen Opherion, what are you doing?!”  
Aldaraen couldn’t catch his breath, his heart beating so hard in his chest he felt it might explode. His sense of destiny, as Galadriel had once explained to him in a dream when she had cast most of the dragon magic from his body, weighed heavily upon his heart, guiding his actions, whether he wanted to or not.  
He stared over his shoulder at Khelekmin, who was flying towards the Fire-Mountain, then back at Eardaneth, who was watching him with a gleaming, concerned gaze.  
“I know what I have to do,” he answered softly, then wrenched himself free from Eardaneth’s grip and raced back across the open, blackened field, making his way towards the Fire-Mountain and praying to the Valar that he was making the right decision.  
For once in his life.  
~~~  
Athey grasped at the stones beside the river, pulling his sodden body forward out of the water and resting on the muddy shore.  
When he had flipped over Hyansul’s head, he had remained partially submerged in the water until the battling dragons, Sauron, and most of the enemies, had moved on.  
He had lost his sword in the fall and the water was too swift outside of the cavern before him to risk diving for it.  
The river ran out of the cavern’s mouth and it was icy, bone-chilling cold, numbing his body, and Athey figured that somewhere inside of the mountain, the river’s source must bubble out of the stone, or at least through the mountain.   
He had heard stories of men routing water into mountains to kill fire in the earth…  
He struggled the rest of the way out of the river with shaking legs, starting to stand himself upright, when he saw a slender young Elf limping out of the cavern ahead, hanging onto the fallen boulders like an aged Man.   
It took him a moment to recognize Aldariil, for the Elf had been scorched, his hair was blown back in a humorous manner and his skin seemed much tanner than usual.   
“Oh, there you are!” Athey scrambled towards him, wiping mud from his eyes, “To the Valar, DragonKin, you look like you’ve been in a war!”   
Aldariil didn’t seem to find humor in his words, only looking at him with half-closed eyes and ripping tattered cloth from the undershirt beneath his armor.  
“Did a dragon get you, eh?” Athey reached him and slumped on the boulders, as well, but Aldariil shook his head, spitting a clod of blood out of his mouth and answering,  
“No. Unfortunately I met an angry Maia. No thanks to you.”  
“Don’t blame me,” Athey felt a slight stab of pain at the other young Elf’s words, his arms crossed where he leaned on the rock, until he noticed the small smile on his blackened face and Aldariil shook his head.  
“It sure makes your lips pink.”  
“Shut it,” Aldariil laughed quietly, kicking half-heartedly at the half-Avari, half-Silvan Elf, but they both flinched in shock when Khelekmin’s massive bulk slammed into the ground in front of them with no warning, his one, good eye narrowed.   
Athey knew they made a not very regal, heroic pair. One blackened with hair on-end, and the other wet and covered with mud.  
“Dragon-riders!” Khelekmin hissed, staring at them appraisingly, “Where are your enslaved mounts? They have left you as the squirming maggots you are.”   
“Hyansul’s a lot like his father, isn’t he? Quite an ass,” Athey laughed nervously, and Aldariil elbowed him.  
“They are not enslaved. They find value in friendship and shared interest. They may leave as soon as they see fit. We hold them by no bond. They are our friends!” Aldariil said loudly, again shocking himself at his lack of fear of the massive creatures. He had grown quite relaxed about them, growing deeply into his dragon-name, given by Menelaudh many years ago, “Khelekmin, you should know this. You shared such friendship with the Man named Raebdon, and a She-Elf named Vilna!”  
“She was murdered! I avenge her death!” Khelekmin roared, deafeningly, and Athey closed his eyes in terror at the hot wind. He looked at Aldariil, who didn’t even blink, staring up defiantly at the massive SnowDrake. His words shocked him.  
“Do not be ridiculous, Khelekmin! You were powerful in mind! How could you let the witchcraft of one ridiculous being take away your pride and your honor?”  
“Pride and honor? When do dragons hold pride and honor when they let an Elf sit astride their back and order them as a horse, a beast of burden?” Khelekmin spat, but something troubling was gleaming in his icy eye…something like unease.  
“They honor themselves and all of dragon-kind by standing against the one who causes them to be hated and hunted!” Aldariil shouted furiously, “Dragons like you bring hate to yourselves! To those who do not deserve, like Menelaudh and Hyansul!”   
“How dare you speak as if you yourself were a dragon!” Khelekmin roared, but Aldariil still didn’t flinch, standing in front of Athey with rigid shoulders and a fierce glare, “You steal our armor to make armor of your own, you steal our magic to strengthen your own--!”  
“No, Khelekmin!” Aldariil’s voice was so loud that he actually drew the SnowDrake’s attention, “YOU are the one allowing your magic to be stolen, to strengthen He who would bring about your kind’s ruin!”  
“You know nothing of dragons!” Khelekmin roared, and Aldariil could see the unmistakable blue glow beginning to burn beneath the scales on the SnowDrake’s belly and throat, and he tensed himself in preparation to flee, “You are nothing but the favored creation of the Valar! Ever in their favor! You are nothing but worms!”  
“Then why waste your breath on us?! It isn’t exactly minty fresh now, is it?”  
Aldariil closed his eyes when Athey’s irritated yell rung out clearly over the dragon’s growling,   
The SnowDrake’s eye blazed, his mouth stretching open, and Aldariil didn’t wait for a further signal, throwing himself backwards against Athey and flinging them both behind the boulders blocking the cavern’s entrance just as searing blue flames erupted from the dragon behind them, flooding the air.  
“Why don’t you just stay quiet!?” he screamed at Athey, and the other Elf, surprisingly calm, answered in irritation,  
“For being so powerful, he was too much talk! There’s only so much of that one can take!”   
“He’s a DRAGON!” Aldariil shouted, but Athey shrugged.  
The white-scaled claws of the SnowDrake dug around the massive boulders, beginning to pull them away, and Aldariil cursed under his breath, looking around desperately for a way out. They didn’t have time to flee into the cave.  
More blue flames flooded around the boulders, but Aldariil noticed brief flashes of orange flames.   
Khelekmin roared in fury outside of the boulder.   
“Menelaudh’s here,” Aldariil said, more or less to himself, but he heard Athey say behind him,   
“She’s going to get herself killed just trying to protect us all of the time. If Hyansul hurries up, then I can help her--” Whatever else he was rambling faded into the background.  
Aldariil felt a stab of guilt but he could feel Menelaudh’s determination course through his body, her magic being close enough to meld with his, once more.  
He steeled himself and prepared to step outside, not knowing how he would aid at all in his weakened state, but a sudden, brilliant flash of light outside shocked him, blinded him, and the ground shook beneath his feet, making him land on his arse heavily.  
Raebidus’ amplified voice rose above the temporarily confused and separated dragons, shouting Khelekmin’s name.  
~~~  
Both Drakes were staring at him with round eyes, the scales that marched along their necks raised almost like hackles on a wolf.  
Raebidus had never been so scared in his entire life, but he focused his mind on conserving his power, as the Istari had taught him.  
If he could free Khelekmin’s mind, perhaps he could weaken Sauron and save his brother, Garrik. His draw to the SnowDrake was equally powerful, the bond passed to him by his father not ignorable.   
“You are blinded!” Raebidus shouted, his amplified voice shocking even him, hearing it echo around the mountain.  
Khelekmin didn’t respond, completely ignoring Menelaudh as if in a trance, and charging for the red-haired Man, loosing a terrifying scream that made every hair on Raebidus’ body stand on end.  
Raebidus suddenly felt very small. Very small, indeed. But he focused deeply on the SnowDrake’s swirling, corrupted, confused mind.  
Finally, as the SnowDrake closed the distance between them in what felt like slow-motion, Raebidus touched a hidden portion of the dragon’s mind, of pain and fear, or torture, as he was succumbed to the Necromancer’s will by witchcraft, wrought upon him by… Raebdon?… and Raebidus touched the SnowDrake’s mind, then.  
It was in that moment that he realized he was going to die. He had assumed badly.   
Khelekmin held no bond to Raebdon. It was inexistent.  
Raebdon had been the one, corrupted as he had been, to torture Khelekmin into subservience and servitude as a Hatchling.  
Flashes of memory as their minds met bolted before Raebidus’ mind’s eye;  
Being in a cage, starving. Sharp, shooting paints of witchcraft from Raebdon.   
Raebidus had only known his father when he was away from the witchcraft, free from corruption and deception.  
But, there was no denying that Raebdon had harmed Khelekmin, destroying every shred of innocence and trust that the small dragon had held within him.  
That was why his father had felt so guilty, Raebidus realized.  
Raebidus looked up through the weak vision of a new Hatchling, cowering away from the red-haired Man dressed in black standing outside of his cage, chanting cryptic words.  
Raebidus crashed back into real life. The SnowDrake was nearly on top of him, but now, more than ever, even if he held no bond with the dragon… Raebidus wanted to save him, or at least mend his father’s hurt.  
It was no wonder Khelekmin had killed his father when he stumbled across him and the eggs of his Hatchlings within the Fire-Mountain. He HATED the Man, only bonded through ill-will and torture.  
Raebidus knew Vilna had imprinted upon the SnowDrake, which was probably why Garrik was holding a bond and drawing power from Khelekmin in the battle…but if Raebdon had not held the most precious imprint of the young dragon, then who did? Vilna had been with the SnowDrake when he was an adolescent, nearly an adult.  
Drawing power from the very depths of the ground he was standing upon, Raebidus dove into the SnowDrake’s whirling, black mind once again, pushing through his memories, until a vision flashed before his eyes in a second.   
He was sitting on someone’s bare chest, being a very small Hatchling, as it was. He was being prodded in the side with a heated prong until he performed, hiccoughing and coughing out searing blue flames until the blind-folded victim screamed in pain, melting and burning his flesh. He didn’t want to do it, but it made the terrible poking from his master stop, as they laughed at their victim’s torment. Khelekmin imprinted upon him accidentally when what was a young Elf attempted to attack him, screaming desperate, magical words. He was a very small dragon, so the small assault of magic caught him off guard, knocking him backwards as if receiving a slight punch to the chest, but he felt stuck to the Elf’s tortured mind, to his confusion.   
‘What are you doing?’ Khelekmin ignored Raebdon’s demand, unable to speak yet, anyway, but flinched in fright when the Elf slammed a weak wall between their connection. He had never felt him again.  
Raebidus could’ve screamed in realization. THAT was why Aldaraen had suffered so terribly every time he was near the SnowDrake, THAT was why Galadriel couldn’t heal him. She could only withdraw the witchcraft in his body, NOT the bond he held with the dragon’s magic.  
“Faina ho! Lle naa il- ho!” Raebidus screamed, attempted to peel Khelekmin away from Sauron’s influence, but it was useless. Sauron would have to be the one to lose a connection to the SnowDrake, not the other way around.   
Raebidus bolted to the side and threw himself to the ground when he saw Hyansul bolting towards them with massive wing thrusts, the younger SnowDrake flashing past over his head and slamming into the elder’s chest, stopping his charge.  
Torgin was flapping towards them, as well, and Raebidus moaned to himself.   
He felt not only useless, but confused. He knew that Aldaraen, horrified of the SnowDrake as he was, would never attempt to save him.  
Hyansul was smart. He saw the MountainDrake approaching over the battlefield and he flew to meet him over open ground, knowing that he and his sister could not defeat both Khelekmin and Torgin together.  
Menelaudh was left, at the moment, to deal with her corrupted father, but she knew Hyansul would return shortly after distracting Torgin or losing him in another chase, as they sought out their opponents’ weaknesses.  
~~~  
Alinor couldn’t see Sauron, but she knew she was drawing closer.   
The blood roared in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the battle around her.   
It was almost as if Sauron kept his soldiers away from her, allowing her to come to him safely.  
‘If only he knew the surprise he’s about to receive,’ she kept telling herself, but she spiraled deeper and deeper into a silent, tunneled-vision walk, unable to feel the sword that she clutched in her hand.  
Something grasped her wrist, bringing a small degree of sound back to her ears, and she stared down dumbly at her arm.  
A hand was holding her tightly, clad in one of her old grey socks with holes cut into it.  
She looked up at Gandalf slowly, his light blue eyes wide with concern and urgency, messy blonde hair plastered to his skull underneath his pointed hat.  
His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear him.   
If Gandalf was to look more like a bum than ever before, she couldn’t help thinking, this was the time.  
Another pair of hands grasped her arms, turning her around, and she was shocked to find herself facing her cousin, Legolas, who had always been an elder brother to her.  
Seeing his face was a surprise. Her uncle had been very clear that he wouldn’t help them, but—  
Sound suddenly flooded back to her fully and she cringed at the clanging of metal, screams, her cousin’s raised voice shouting,  
“—you doing? You are going to die!”  
“Legolas?” she asked dumbly, and his hand held her face, looking confused and concerned.  
“Ali-loo? What in the Valar are you doing?”  
Hearing him say the pet-name she had earned as a small Elfling confused her, widening her vision, she felt like, forgetting Sauron again.  
“Are you answering his call? Because Alinor, you will not survive,” Gandalf turned her back to him, his gaze deathly serious and frightened for his friend, an expression she had never seen him wear.  
“He will kill you, Alinor,” Gandalf said, but his mouth didn’t move, she heard the grey-Wizard’s voice in her head, gentle and calming.  
Her family’s stubbornness, trademark to the Woodland Elves, began pushing up through her better sense, until she felt the words leaving her mouth as if on their own accord, saying,  
“No. I will kill him. He is as flesh as you and me. He lives by the sword, he will DIE by the sword.”  
She began to walk forward again, but Legolas grasped the back of her tunic, yelling at her, and she turned on him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword unconsciously.  
Legolas’ own hands habitually went to his own, though his eyes were wide in shock, but Gandalf pulled him back, away from her.  
“Alinor!” Legolas shouted when his cousin turned her back once more, trudging up the Fire-Mountain, “Alinor, don’t you be like my father!”  
She paused for only a moment before continuing on her way.  
“What’s the matter with her?” Legolas turned on Gandalf frantically, but the Wizard was strangely calm, turning on his heel and running back down the steep incline of the Fire-Mountain. Legolas stared after him in surprise, then bolted after him, shouting his name.  
The young Wizard waited to let the Elven Prince match his pace, then said evenly, “If she is controlled by the call of the Maia, there is nothing you and I can do but worsen the issue.”  
“But--!” Legolas began, but Gandalf interrupted him, continuing,  
“Or, if this is the course of the Valar, she cannot withstand their bidding, as those of the race of Men can. She will answer her destiny in what she believes is the correct course of action.”  
“But--!” Legolas said again, but Gandalf held up a hand, interjecting once more,  
“I have an idea. She’ll need help. If she won’t stop, then we can at least help her and do our part. She is correct in one thing- Sauron is indeed inhabiting a flesh form.”  
“But if we—“  
“Trust me, Legolas,” Gandalf shouted, then smiled with bright eyes and finished, “If all else fails… Kill it with fire!”  
~~~  
Aldaraen stopped beside the cavern which Khelekmin and Menelaudh were fighting in front of, his back to a rather high cliff that lead into a grassy valley below, untouched by the war, thus far.  
He was sure neither of the dragons had seen him arrive.  
His hands were shaking and he felt light-headed, being so close to the massive SnowDrake.   
Dragons seemed to defy gravity and all laws of motion, striking and moving with speed that did not seem to visually suit their great size.  
The two battling dragons moved away from the cavern entrance, and Aldaraen felt simultaneously sick to the stomach and protective when he saw his son’s body lying on the ground, on his stomach. It took a moment for the dust to clear for him to realize Aldariil was staring intently at Menelaudh, probably offering what little power to her that he could. He looked grievously injured, almost unrecognizable, and it brought back horrendous memories to Aldaraen of his own youth. He would not see his son the same torture and fate.  
Aldaraen kneeled and forced his arms to still their shaking as he knocked the glowing blue arrow to the bow he had taken from a fallen archer. He whispered the words Galadriel had taught him to calm his mind when it raged like this.  
He had done it before, shoot an arrow at Khelekmin.  
Except this time, he hoped to end the SnowDrake’s life entirely.  
It was difficult because of all the struggling the battling dragons were doing, and Aldaraen didn’t want to accidentally kill Menelaudh instead.  
Then they would all be doomed.  
A flash of movement distracted him, and Aldaraen watched an Elf that he at first took to be an Avari dash from the cavern and towards the river. He recognized it as Athey, Eardaneth’s young friend that he had rescued from the forest and reunited with his family, some story like that, but Aldaraen couldn’t precisely remember, nor cared.  
Menelaudh’s brother splashed down into the river behind Khelekmin and Menelaudh, massive wings raised, keeping them dry, and allowed Athey to leap upon his back.   
Aldaraen ignored this, sweat slowly sliding down his forehead and getting into his eyes, so he had to pause to wipe his arm across his face.  
The ground trembled and Aldaraen looked up to see Menelaudh forcing her weight down upon the elder SnowDrake, her icy blue eyes burning like fire, one of her claws poised to tear his wing from his body, it seemed, but the SnowDrake suddenly spoke, hissing,  
“You have failed, dragoness.”  
Aldaraen remembered that Khelekmin was Menelaudh’s sire, and he felt a sudden sympathy towards the valiant young FireDrake, but he wished she wouldn’t have responded when she replied,  
“How have I failed? I will save you from further humiliation. I save my small-family.”  
“You are enslaved. You will die by their hands,” Khelekmin laughed coarsely, and Menelaudh paused, seeming confused by his words.  
The SnowDrake took the opportunity to clamp down viciously on the leaf-shaped pendant and chain that primarily Garrik had crafted for her.   
She made a gurgling, choking sort of noise, scrabbling backwards with her claws and flapping her ebony wings, but Khelekmin yanked her head down and slammed his own claw down on the loose space of the chain, keeping her pinned, and choked, to the ground.  
Aldaraen was shocked cold at this abrupt move, not expecting to see Menelaudh, for some reason, be defeated. It surprised him greatly.  
He pulled the arrow slowly to his ear, narrowing his sapphire eyes, ignoring his son as he began to scream and crawl uselessly towards his trapped companion. He aimed carefully at Khelekmin’s only good, pale eye.  
The SnowDrake’s mouth opened as he prepared to close his jaws around the back of Menelaudh’s exposed neck, a fatal blow, sharp fangs gleaming in the sun, but before Aldaraen could release his arrow, Hyansul exploded from the river and slammed into Khelekmin’s side, Athey hunched over on the young SnowDrake’s back, eyes squeezed closed in concentration.   
Menelaudh immediately spread her wings and thrust herself upwards powerfully, throwing Khelekmin completely from her back as Hyansul slashed his claws across the elder dragon’s shoulder and neck, sending opalescent scales flying in all directions, bright red blood spilling onto the ground.  
The scales landed all around Aldaraen, sounding like pieces of coin falling on glass, and he lowered his bow in shock, watching as the two young dragons pushed Khelekmin over, wounding him further as the elder dragon was forced to rear on his hind legs, trying to retain his balance.  
Aldaraen was covered by shadow, and he was realized that Khelekmin was falling his direction, pushed by the younger dragons.   
It would be useless to fire the arrow now, as it would only deflect off the SnowDrake’s scaled back.  
“ADA!”   
Aldaraen looked back at the cavern entrance in time to meet his young son’s horrified gaze, but he could only stare at him emptily.  
His only hope was to run, but, his back to a cliff, Aldaraen knew that he had nowhere to go.  
He dropped the glowing arrow in frozen horror as the SnowDrake crashed down before him, and Menelaudh and Hyansul, both roaring until Aldaraen couldn’t hear, pushed Khelekmin over the side.  
Aldariil could only watch and scream uselessly in horror as his father disappeared from sight.  
~~~  
Alinor looked up from the blackened ground she was ascending when it seemed as if the atmosphere about her darkened, becoming almost dusk.  
Her legs were tired, shaking, and she knew why when she realized that she was nearly to the top of the Fire-Mountain, where the massive Mountain-Bear had nearly taken her life so many years ago.   
It seemed that her judgement, stubbornness, and choice of enemies had only worsened since then.  
Sauron was standing calmly before the steep incline that rose several meters in the air, concealing the maw of the long-dormant Fire-Mountain above.  
He was entirely concealed in black robes, flattering his slender physique. The dark atmosphere became almost black as night about his form.  
Alinor could feel the old fears and nightmares of her stay in Angmar creeping upon her mind, but she blocked them out, drawing upon the hate and anger that burned within her heart.  
“Alinor,” he spoke her name beautifully with his honey-like voice, and by his tone alone, she could tell that he was smiling. She grasped the hilt of the heavy sword Elrohir had crafted in both of her hands, holding it in front of her.  
“You have answered your calling, my precious maiden,” he continued, holding both arms out before him in a welcoming gesture, “I am greatly pleased that you have decided to free your fiery heart.”  
Unsure if it was an illusion, Alinor watched as the black robes fell away from the Maia’s body, revealing the sharply handsome face she had grown to hate, blonde hair falling like spun gold to his shoulders, amber eyes gleaming happily. He was smiling, an open, genuine, smile.  
Alinor faltered, feeling her anger beginning to slip into confusion.  
The Maia began walking towards her, never losing her eye contact. He was wearing a light blue and sapphire tunic that strangely contrasted his golden hair and eyes.  
“Do not fear, young one. We are alone. No one can penetrate the dark veil I have created,” Sauron stopped two meters away from her, as if sensing something wasn’t quite right, then smiled warmly and held out his hand, finishing, “The Ring shall be yours, my vessel.”  
There had been nothing in the Maia’s hand when he had first extended it, but when Alinor flicked her gaze to Sauron’s face, then back to his hand, the Ring she had lusted so strongly for within Angmar was resting in his palm.  
“You can end this entire war, Alinor,” Sauron patiently stood, hand out-stretched, “Fulfill your destiny, and discover what you were created to accomplish.”  
Alinor’s gaze slipped beneath the Ring to the Maia’s slender hips, where his weapon hung from his belt.   
It took her a moment to realize what she was staring at, but when she recognized the blade, fury bubbled up strongly inside of her mind again.  
Her mother’s sword, that Aldaraen had given to Alinor upon Faerlin’s death, hung from the Maia’s belt.   
She could plainly read the runes, “The finest of blades, worthy to serve only the fairest of maids, both in hand, and in land,” etched down the smooth steel, and it now hung at Sauron’s side like some trophy of war, being that at the hands of his enslaved minions, her mother had been brutally drowned.  
If she took the Ring, then she could defeat Sauron and win justice for all those of her family, friends, and countless others that had been slain by the wish of the fallen Maia.  
Something didn’t seem right about her thought’s trail, but the Ring, in Sauron’s out-stretched hand, beckoned her gaze once more.   
She was faltering, but she forced her mind to slow down, considering what her best option would be, almost forgetting entirely about the tall Maia standing before her silently.   
Sauron gazed at her patiently, watching, and only smiled.  
~~~  
Garrik was nowhere to be found, and Elrohir yelled in frustration, feeling as if he had wasted lots of time. The younger Elf could’ve escaped to anywhere.  
He had been intent on killing the Avari. The Elf was obviously crazy.  
His boots were sinking deep in churned mud and he struggled for his balance, unused to such ungracefulness.  
He turned in circles, searching for Alinor.   
This already battled upon part of the Fire-Mountain was essentially empty and destroyed, the majority of the diminished armies pushing towards the cavern leading into the Fire-Mountain.  
Elrohir turned one last time in a slow circle, searching the barren landscape for any sign of his wife, when he saw the increasing dark atmospheric cloud pulsing near the summit of the large mountain they were upon.  
Some instinct drove him towards it, and while he quietly struggled up the muddy mountain-side towards the silent spectacle with a frightened heart, he wondered if his brother and father were well.  
Probably so.   
They didn’t have some wild-minded Woodland wife to worry about.  
~~~  
Sauron watched Alinor stretch her dirty hand out slowly to take the Ring, but she suddenly froze.  
“Take it,” he said, more demandingly than he intended, but the She-Elf slowly lifted her emerald gaze to him, filled with fury.  
With a tentative mental tap, having learned last time, Sauron easily felt that the young Elf was not afraid of him.  
It shocked him.  
“Thief,” she hissed, and, for a moment, Sauron was confused.   
When he realized what she referring to, he shrugged sinuously and answered, “I’ve been called much worse.”  
With a smooth hand gesture, thinking it the safest thing to do at the moment, Sauron concealed the Ring.  
As soon as it was gone, Alinor’s demeanor entirely shifted, exuding nothing but animalistic fury.  
“You coward! Bending those poor Avari to your will!” she brandished her sword with both hands once more, voice raised angrily, “You are just like the Men you mock! Cowardly in the flesh!”   
Sauron sneered at her and clenched his fists, concentrating, drawing power from his mental links with Torgin and Khelekmin as he prepared to assault her mind and break her resistance.  
There was a sudden change in the power around him, he felt, and Sauron glanced up at Alinor, the She-Elf unmoving, staring at him fearlessly. He knew that she had the mental ability to resist him, and, if she controlled her emotions adequately, attack him, but the level of power he felt probing against his own witchcraft was of a different power than he had felt.  
Sauron could sense the presence of a being who possessed the power of the Maia, and if it wasn’t Elrond, then it must be—  
Sauron never finished his thought, for a powerful attack of pure white magic assaulted him from all sides, it felt like, forcing him back against the rocky side of the Fire-Mountain.   
Alinor seemed obviously quite surprised.   
There was no one else upon the high ridge the Maia and She-Elf occupied, but it was apparent that Alinor had help from a distant source.  
She found strategy, seeming to know who it was, in allowing the unseen Elf to use magic and she, herself, assaulting him with her sword.   
When Sauron’s first attack of witchcraft against Alinor was parried by Elrond’s son, the only other being it could be, Sauron thought, then the Maia knew that he faced a challenge.  
The She-Elf was upon him in an instant, furiously attacking him, and Sauron focused on his defense, shocked at her angry and powerful strokes. He didn’t leave enough of his thought upon Elrohir, for another spear of magic from the Valar struck him, it felt, in the stomach, smashing him back on the rocky mountainside and pinning him there.   
An added mental attack from Alinor stripped him of his connection with Torgin and Khelekmin, to his shock, unprepared for the combined power of the distant young Elf and She-Elf, and he scrambled to regain it, but both dragons seemed to be too occupied to care and attempt to reestablish. If they even noticed.  
“You’ve tortured, dragons, Elves, Men, my family--!” Alinor ran out of breath as she assaulted him again with her blade, and Sauron parried her blows expertly, although not with the ease that he had expected. She was incredibly swift.  
He wondered where the young Elves were drawing their power from without becoming exhausted, but he found his answer when the She-Elf’s FireDrake companion soared past overhead, chasing down one of the smaller dragons, what remained of the hoard that had arrived with Sauron.  
This battle would have been won quite a long time ago if it hadn’t been for that FireDrake and the defected SnowDrake, and it infuriated Sauron.  
He could play the young Elves’ game, and he assaulted the fleeing Drake above him with witchcraft until he felt himself gain some semblance of control over the dragon’s mind. It fed him power, which not only allowed him to build a stronger defense against the young Elves, but also to turn the smaller dragon on Menelaudh, releasing a steady stream of fire and forcing the FireDrake to gain more altitude to protect her wings and eyes.  
Anything to weaken the mental bond the FireDrake held with Alinor.  
Molten fire splattered down about them, but the Maia didn’t care, feeling pleased at the small break in assault as the young She-Elf took shelter, disappearing amongst some of the boulders further up the Mountain-Side.  
Sauron prepared to leap after her, knowing he would have to kill her.  
There was no room in Arda for an Elf who defied him so strongly and successfully. There would only be one outcome of this battle today.  
~~~  
Thranduil heard Eardaneth release an arrow beside him and heard it ‘thwack’ as it struck the dragon above them in the eye.  
It was impressive, since the tall Elf had to brace his arrow with his shortened arm and draw it with his mouth. An Elf had to do what an Elf had to do in a time of war.  
The Drake screamed but the sound was immediately cut off by the explosion that followed shortly after.  
Thranduil only heard this, not taking his eyes from the second dragon flying towards them.   
The young Elven-King held his breath and aimed carefully, knowing that they were short…too short…on arrows. They had already missed several times.  
If he hit this Drake, then that meant there were only three dragons left. The massive ones, Khelekmin and Torgin, who counted as five small ones each, Thranduil thought, and then the last young MountainDrake.  
The dragon flapped closer and saw him aiming the glowing arrow. It slowed and began to open its mouth, but Thranduil released the taught string.  
The arrow struck true in the dragon’s wide eye and it began to fall to the ground in its pain and fury.   
Thranduil turned to flee, pushing Eardaneth, as well.  
In the aftermath of the second explosion, the auburn-haired Captain and silvery-haired King checked both dragons to ensure they were dead, prodding them tentatively with their swords before touching with their hands.  
It was a horrifying experience, that close, even if they were dead.  
Thranduil had no idea where his nephew and niece had grown the courage to ride the dragons, much less battle them.  
As if reading his thoughts, Eardaneth lifted his sapphire gaze to the sky, asking, “Where are our dragon-riders?”  
Thranduil looked for the black dragoness and white dragon, shielding his vision with his dirty hand. At the moment, they were nowhere in sight.  
“There are three dragons left. One MountainDrake, one SnowDrake, and Sauron’s mount,” Eardaneth said, and Thranduil nodded before pointing, saying,  
“SeaGaze, look there.”  
Eardaneth followed his finger, narrowing his eyes.  
Earathran, his son, stood tall beside Itryd, the leader of the undeceived Avari, felling every enemy Orc or corrupted Avari that dared stand before him.  
After Elrond had taken a badly wounded Elladan back where Yaeran and Balin had remained to finish making arrows, Itryd was the final leader battling the enemy forces as a leader on the front line, Thranduil and Eardaneth focusing on downing dragons when Menelaudh, Hyansul, and their riders seemed to disappear.  
When Elrond had returned, he stayed in the back of the soldiers with Saruman, battling witchcraft with magic.  
Eardaneth was proud. He knew Earathran would make a great leader someday.  
He watched his son, the way he handled his blade with such fearless ease, and, for a moment, saw his father, Maedhros.  
“They’re falling back towards the Fire-Mountain,” Thranduil observed, wiping rolling sweat from his forehead, smeared with mud and blood, and Eardaneth agreed with him.  
Indeed, the Avari and Orcs seemed to be slowly getting pushed backwards up the mountain’s slope, Thranduil’s arrival and fresh surge of Woodland warriors having been enough to push their odds in their favor.  
That is, unless Sauron had some other trick up his sleeve, or their dragons, Menelaudh and Hyansul, were dead or killed.  
~~~  
Aldaraen vaguely recalled plummeting down the cliff-side, having brief flashes of the flailing SnowDrake twisting below him, trying to use his wings, but whatever magical attack and physical harm had been worked upon him seemed to have stolen Khelekmin’s strength.  
The SnowDrake slammed down upon the grassy slopes of the valley below, sending dust, leaves, and flowers swirling up about him in all directions.  
Aldaraen knew he was going to land on top of the dragon, but there was nothing he could do.  
He world turned into a brilliant explosion of white pain on impact and he was aware of the sensation of sliding over cold sandpaper, then, almost immediately, he was encompassed in black.  
~~~  
Khelekmin had felt the strong surge of magical attack from Raebidus, the son of his torturer, strip him of power. Coupled with his Hatchlings’ joined attack, he had suffered tremendous pain to his already aged body, but also had felt his connection with Garrik, and, most importantly, the Necromancer melt away.  
He hadn’t felt the sensation of being in his own mind for so many years that it was akin to scrubbing the skin from a scab, making his mind scream in agony at what felt like raw vulnerability.  
As soon as the evil presence had vanished, his power had fled him, making him feel very old, and very, very tired.  
Even now, he could barely open his good eye. It was a great struggle.  
Slowly he blinked open his pale eye and focused in confusion on his surroundings.  
He was lying in soft green grass, something he hadn’t done in…his life? He snorted his nostrils, sending grass and fallen flowers swirling in the air about him. He was too tired to lift his head, and, quite frankly, he didn’t wish to. He just wanted to die here, the most beautiful place he remembered having seen, peaceful, the battle raging far in the distance…at least so it seemed.  
His peace was disrupted when he realized there was an Elf lying on his twisted wing.   
Khelekmin hadn’t remembered seeing him fall with him, but the Elf had obviously hit the ground hard.   
Blood trickled from his mouth and ear and he seemed lifeless.  
Slowly, one of the airborne flowers twirled down through the air until it had lit lightly upon the Elf’s face, directly between his eyes.  
It was a strange thing to see, but the golden-haired Elf furrowed his eyebrows, then sneezed, blinking open sapphire eyes.  
Almost as if the sneeze had broken some spell, horrendous scars slowly grew visible all over the Elf’s body.  
There was something strangely familiar about him that was tugging at the back of the massive SnowDrake’s memory, warning him, beckoning to ill memories, but Khelekmin didn’t move, only staring at him with his single eye. He was still too exhausted to lift his head, much less care.  
In the Elf’s returning-to-consciousness state of mind, his barriers were weak, unthought of, and Khelekmin, before he could stop himself, felt his magic drawn to him in an odd way, brushing past swirling confusion until he could touch the Elf’s mind.  
In an instant, Khelekmin knew their bond. He had imprinted upon this Elf long ago, but didn’t recall when…or why…unless it had been an accident. He did know, for certain, that this Elf was the closest thing to his heart, so he felt no fear for him.  
The Elf finally seemed to be collecting his mind, aided by Khelekmin’s greater power, and his scars slowly faded back into obscurity. He turned slowly to stare at Khelekmin’s massive head resting beside him, slit eye gazing curiously at him.  
~  
Aldaraen was frozen in shock.   
The dragon’s eye was larger than his body, it seemed- perhaps a little smaller.  
Instead of killing him, which Khelekmin very easily could have, the SnowDrake only stared at him with an exhausted, dull eye.  
There was no pain, as there had always been in the past, but a strange, comforting bond that caressed his mind, sending power coursing through his body. It felt strange; euphoric.   
Aldaraen didn’t throw up any defensive barriers, because he felt that if he did, attempting to block such a connection would result in the great pain he had grown so familiar with in the past. There was, too, something different. Something had changed. Khelekmin’s mind was no longer a raging blackness, but a calmly exhausted, almost empty vulnerability.   
Corruption-free.  
“Why did you hide yourself from me? Why were you scared of me?” Khelekmin’s massive voice vibrated Aldaraen’s entire body even though the SnowDrake’s volume was incredibly lowered.  
It was a strange, simple question, but Aldaraen felt himself suddenly on the verge of tears.  
Here he was, facing his nightmare, his torture, his demon…  
But all the pain and suffering seemed to be the product of fear and witchcraft.  
Slowly, Aldaraen spoke words that surprised even himself, staring at the dragon’s massive, unblinking eye, and muttered, “When…I touched your mind…that day of ruin with your masters…I knew you were a small creature…but even in your youth, your power marked me…and it scared me.”  
“I imprinted upon you. I did not intend to,” Khelekmin said, half-closing his eye wearily, but he still watched Aldaraen closely as the Elf sat up laboriously.  
Slowly, the Prince turned to look at the dragon once more, finishing, “When you touched my mind…I saw myself. A young, wild-hearted lad that needed to be free but…was instead trapped…and frightened…”  
Without asking, Khelekmin focused on sharing memories with the Elf, who closed his eyes; Memories of his captivity, torture, forced and prodded to work evil upon Aldaraen…  
“They made you evil,” the Elf murmured quietly, and Khelekmin closed his eye, saying sorrowfully,  
“I knew not what I was doing during my time as a Hatchling.”  
“What fate drove us together like this?” Aldaraen asked slowly, but Khelekmin opened his eye again, staring at the Elf quietly before answering,  
“No, DragonScar. What fate drove my Hatchlings and your children together?”  
It took a moment for Aldaraen to realize what the dragon had said, but…he had to agree. It was quite a marvelous thing that their children should grow so close, fighting such evil together and bridging countless anathemas in their relationships.  
He abruptly remembered Alinor and Aldariil and a cold chill of dread settled over him, although he was surprised at the strength Khelekmin’s joined mind offered him.  
Aldaraen stood slowly, staring up the cliff-side towards the top of the Fire-Mountain.   
He could see the blackened atmosphere of Sauron’s presence in dark magic, hear explosions and attacks of magic.   
There was a small MountainDrake circling overhead, battling in the air with Menelaudh in the horrifying fashion that dragons did. It truly was terrifying to even just witness them fighting one another.  
He didn’t know where his daughter was, but he could guess with a great degree of certainty that it was nothing good.   
Also, the final thing he recalled of his young son was seeing Aldariil prostrate on the ground, appearing badly burned.   
Aldaraen still had a strange peace in his mind being joined with the dragon that had imprinted upon him so many years ago, everything now making sense, and he turned slowly to stare at the SnowDrake, an idea forming in his mind.  
It was an irrational idea, but an idea nonetheless.  
~~~  
Hyansul banked steeply, diving through the sky towards Torgin.  
He was aware that his sister was attempting to aid Alinor as best as she could, but was having trouble.  
The young SnowDrake had made the decision, with Athey upon his back, to attack Torgin instead of aiding Menelaudh, because the massive MountainDrake was wreaking havoc upon the troops pushing Sauron’s soldiers up the mountainside, slowly but steadily taking away their upper-hand.  
He swooped down quickly and, claws up like a bird of prey, slammed into Torgin’s side, knocking him off balance and ending the steady stream of fire that the dragon was releasing on the Elves below.  
His attention sufficiently gained, Torgin forgot the Elves, for the moment, and roared a challenge, beating the air with his magnificent wings and rising in the air after Hyansul and his rider.  
Hyansul could hear Athey moan in expectation of a wild ride, but, as long as he had Athey’s joined magic and power, Hyansul thought that they should be fine.  
~~~  
Aldariil was numb in shock and disbelief. He had watched uselessly as his father was thrown from the cliff with the SnowDrake.   
Whether if he was alive or not, Aldariil knew that if Khelekmin was also still living and, not to mention, angry at his wounds, then the SnowDrake would make quick work of his father.  
He crawled forward for a few seconds before collapsing again, breathless. His entire body burned and ached from Sauron’s witchcraft.   
Piece by piece, the young Elf slowly removed the armor made of Menelaudh’s shed scales, making himself more light.  
The steady roar of the battle had grown closer, he noticed, and Aldariil released the strap he was tugging loose with his mouth to look up with weary, squinted eyes.   
The Orcs and corrupted Avari were massed, it seemed, and slowly, inch by inch, making their way up the Fire-Mountain directly towards him. He was nearly completely cut-off from his allies.  
It seemed they would be victorious, with massive losses, however, but victorious all the same.  
He hurriedly removed the rest of the armor before grasping at stones on the side of the cavern entrance into the Fire-Mountain, Menelaudh’s old home, hauling himself clumsily to his feet.   
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Elven Prince, charred as a coal-piece.”  
The harsh, grating voice made Aldariil look up in alarm, brushing fried chestnut hair from his eyes.  
He knew the large Orc to be Borug, the leader of the Orcs since his father’s youth. He must have been fleeing to the cavern to hide himself.  
Fear turned his blood icy cold and made his heart pound hard until it was roaring in his pointed ears, but Aldariil stood away from the wall in a show of what menial strength he had left, replying, “Are you fleeing? The leader of your army? Surely, defeat cannot be so imminent for the mighty armies of Sauron.”   
Borug didn’t answer, merely drawing a large, curved sword from a sheath over his back in one violent motion, baring his blackened teeth and snarling.   
Aldariil knew there would be no help now, and he cursed under his breath, drawing his own Elvish sword, crafted by his father, and holding it before him defensively, crouching slightly.  
As Borug took cautious, yet menacing steps forward, all Aldariil could think of was that his father’s training had better pay off. He needed it now more than ever.  
~~~  
Eardaneth watched Thranduil aim carefully and fire the last glowing blue arrow they had on them at Torgin as the MountainDrake soared past, engaged in battle with Hyansul.  
The arrow plinked harmlessly off the dragon’s jaw, falling back to the ground, the small container shattering on the rocky, tilled ground and spilling the liquid, which slowly dimmed.  
Eardaneth blinked slowly in dismay. He didn’t know how they would defeat the MountainDrake, much less the massive SnowDrake, Khelekmin, that had disappeared for quite some time now, without the exploding arrows.  
“How many more do Yaeran and the Dwarf have?” Thranduil turned to Eardaneth, guilt at his missed shot plain on his features.  
“We will have to go see,” Eardaneth replied, “Thranduil, don’t worry. It is a near impossible shot at their speed, not to mention when they are twisting and battling.”  
Thranduil waved a hand at him, obviously not accepting his consoling remark.  
“Look out,” Eardaneth said calmly, which surprised himself. It just went to show how accustomed he now was to the massive dragons fighting overhead. He pointed to Torgin, who was chasing Hyansul back in their direction.  
They didn’t have to run because there was no fire being used, but Eardaneth remained glued in place, lost in awe, as he watched the winged beasts battle in the sky.  
Athey was still clutched onto Hyansul’s back, offering his power and strength in mind.  
Torgin caught Hyansul, crushing down on his and attempting to wound his wings, but the limber, smaller SnowDrake twisted in the air violently, desperately trying to escape the massive MountainDrake’s attack. He roared furiously.  
With a final twist, Hyansul wrenched free from Torgin’s grasp, but he scraped his back beneath the MountainDrake.  
Eardaneth watched in horror when Athey was swiped cleanly from the SnowDrake’s back and sent plummeting to the ground. There was nothing Hyansul could do, still pursued by the MountainDrake, but the white dragon cried out pitifully in alarm and remorse.  
Eardaneth shouted a curse and broke into a sprint, tripping once over the rutted, muddy ground. Thranduil only stood and watched him run in confusion.  
He knew not what instinct drove him, but he found himself stopping beneath Athey and taking several steps in different directions, unsure of where the young Elf would hit the ground.  
It all happened much swifter than Eardaneth expected, Athey crashing down in his arms and knocking him violently from his feet.  
If he hadn’t known better, judging by the sheepish grin worn on the younger Elf’s face, Eardaneth would’ve guessed that he received the brunt of the fall.  
“Thanks,” Athey huffed, struggling away from him, and Eardaneth surprised himself with a harsh laugh, asking,  
“That’s it?!”  
“Thanks for catching me,” Athey grinned at him, standing, and offering the elder Elf a hand.  
“Try to stay in the air next time,” Eardaneth stood, as well, and Athey glanced at him, replying,  
“That’s not usually how the saying goes, Captain SeaGaze. I see that your age finally suits your words.”  
“Don’t be smart, Athey. Next time I won’t catch you,” Eardaneth answered dryly, then began trotting back towards the waiting Thranduil, who seemed impressed at the miraculous save.  
Athey shrugged and followed, not particularly listening, as was his specialty.  
~~~  
“If I hold closest bond with you, then…then together we will be powerful…like my daughter and Menelaudh,” Aldaraen turned to stare into Khelekmin’s half-closed eye, but the SnowDrake let out his breath heavily, rumbling Aldaraen’s chest.  
“I am sorry, Elf. I am done fighting,” the dragon grumbled.  
“No. No, Khelekmin, listen to me!” Aldaraen stumbled across the SnowDrake’s torn claw, surprised at his evaporated fear, and approached the dragon’s head, continuing, “Wouldn’t you rather die fighting for a worthy cause? Your mind is free now, you can help us end the evil that plagued even you. You cannot give up, Khelekmin!”   
The massive SnowDrake’s pupil followed his approach in an eerie way before closing once more, as if accepting defeat, answering quietly, as a dragon might, “I no longer have the will to live. I cannot live with myself and what I have done, I have shamed all that I promised Vilna…yet in the end, I have died for no reason, for no cause. I will no longer fight without cause. This is your battle, Aldaraen, not mine.”  
“Vilna’s son yet lives--!” Aldaraen began desperately, but the SnowDrake’s eye opened swiftly, startling him, when the dragon also bared his fangs in defiance, interrupting,  
“I said I am through, Elf. Let me die in peace. I have battled for naught, enslaved by the will of the Necromancer--!”  
“Look at me!” Aldaraen shouted angrily, fearlessly, staring into the gleaming, pale eye of the SnowDrake when he reached his head, at last, “You have not battled for naught!”  
“Yes—“  
“No, you have not!” Aldaraen abruptly grasped white scales in either of his hands on the SnowDrake’s head, making the dragon look at him in surprise as he finished, pointing up forcefully towards the Fire-Mountain, “Then fight and die for your daughter and son, Khelekmin! I have seen the emotion of my daughter’s companion and I know that you dragons have a semblance of love, whether you call it that or not! If you wish to die, then at least offer Menelaudh and Hyansul a chance to survive, for they will not live past this day without your aid. Listen, Khelekmin, if you hate yourself for what you have done, even as I hate myself for my cowardice and inability to protect my Elflings, my—my wife, then let us make amends and do what we can to aid our beautiful daughters and sons! Even in the end of things!”  
Khelekmin stared at him emotionlessly, Aldaraen thought…Either that or he just wasn’t as acute in reading dragon’s as his son and daughter were.  
“Please, Khelekmin,” Aldaraen slowly rested his mud-streaked forehead on the SnowDrake’s massive head, closing his eyes and opening his mind to the dragon as best as he might, “Please, Khelekmin. We can do this. We can save them. I, for one, cannot bear to watch my children needlessly slaughtered. Please.”  
There was a silence that seemed to stretch into eternity, and Aldaraen felt his heart falling in despair.   
The feeling was so abrupt when it occurred that Aldaraen lost his footing and sat down heavily.   
A great sucking of his own strength and power made him lightheaded and Aldaraen forced himself to keep his calm, staring up in a mixture of awe, joy, and victory as the massive, aged SnowDrake slowly began to rise, straightening his huge wings, lifting his head.  
His single pale eye stared forward in determination and concentration, and Aldaraen leapt to his feet in excitement, planting his hands on the SnowDrake’s leg and pushing, as if to help him stand, although he knew it was more than useless.  
“Get on my back.”  
Aldaraen didn’t quite understand what the SnowDrake had said until the dragon’s massive head swung around, staring down at him with a vicious gleam in his eye, repeating,  
“I said, get on my back, Elf!”   
Aldaraen blindly scrambled up the SnowDrake’s scaled side before leaping between his shoulders, watching in amazement as the huge, opalescent wings began to lift in the air, spreading slowly in preparation to flap.  
His ears went deaf, ringing, when Khelekmin began beating the air, lifting his head to the sky to stare up towards the summit of the Fire-Mountain, loosing a majestic roar, and Aldaraen felt a thrill of pride, of rightness, and joy.  
It was time to bring justice to those who had destroyed so much.  
~~~  
Alinor watched as Menelaudh and the dragon attacking her disappeared from sight around the Fire-Mountain, loosing connection with her close companion.  
She could hear Sauron land on the ledge behind her and she whirled about to face him, snarling furiously as she held her sword before her and he casually drew his own blade, the one that had once been her mother’s.  
She no longer attacked him mentally, noticing that Elrohir’s aid had vanished. He must have been engaged by other enemies.  
She focused on maintaining her mental defense only, deciding, since the Maia was flesh, that she should attack him with her blade.  
“Alinor, precious one, why do you fight so? You truly are quite like me, aren’t you? Fiery in heart and passion,” Sauron said, smiling at her with those burning amber eyes, but she forced herself to look away from the almost slit, snake-like pupil.  
It might’ve been a mistake, because she found her gaze resting once more on the Maia’s outstretched hand, holding the Ring.  
“What are you so frightened of, She-Elf? Just take it. You are very aware of the power concealed within its golden allure, are you not?” Sauron traced the Ring with a finger before looking up at Alinor with a small smile, finishing, “Surely you do not wish to end up as your mother, your father…Dead. You can avenge their death and make them proud of you, for a change.”  
“NO!” Alinor shouted, tearing her gaze from the Ring and staring into the Maia’s face now, brandishing her blade, “You are of the flesh, like me, like my brother, even like Garrik! You will know fear! You know that it is difficult to gather followers without a body, don’t you!”   
Sauron looked at her almost in amusement, preparing to speak, but Alinor finished, pointing her blade at him,   
“I am not scared of you!” she shouted, “I am not running from you…anymore!”   
Sauron frowned, sensing her determination, and concealed the Ring as he hissed, “Is that so? Then allow me to show you your folly!”   
He flung himself at the She-Elf, but she swiftly parried his blow, sinking into habits built by playing with Garrik, her father, Eardaneth…Her sword was locked with the Maia’s and she could feel his breath on her face, so she stared fearlessly into his glowing eyes.  
“If I die, at least I might say that I tried,” she hissed, and he smirked at her, answering slowly,  
“That’s more than others can say…isn’t it?”  
With a furious scream, Alinor threw him away, assaulting him with several more blows that the Maia parried, the pair battling along ledges, making their way slowly up the rocky mountainside.  
~~~  
The sheer power of each of Khelekmin’s mighty flaps as he rose into the air was astounding and frightening, the dragon’s muscles pulsing beneath its scales, but Aldaraen had never felt more liberated.  
When the massive SnowDrake crested the cliff that he and the Elf had fallen down, he offered himself more thrust by digging his claws into the side of the stone and propelling himself forward, almost leaping, turning almost completely sideways to avoid a stand of massive pine-trees that had survived the dragons’ battling thus far.  
Aldaraen took advantage of the dragon’s acrobatics, and, finding himself near the ground, leaned over Khelekmin’s side to snatch up the bow and glowing blue arrow that he had dropped before falling over the cliff-side.  
He fumbled with the weapon briefly before snatching it more securely in the air.  
Incredible reaction time and movement was a definite bonus when it came to dragon-riding, Aldaraen was quickly discovering.   
For the first time in his life, he realized how happy he was that he was an Elf.  
~~~  
Legolas stopped running after Gandalf several meters from the line of trees that marked the beginning of the torn, churned, and muddy battlefield.  
He watched as the young Wizard ran to Yaeran and Balin, who were cautiously watching him arrive, but the messy, blonde-haired Istari didn’t pause, merely skidding to a stop and snatching one of the last three glowing, blue arrows.  
There were now only two left with the old Dwarf and Elf.  
“Gandalf! Gandalf!” Yaeran took only a few bounds after the Grey Wizard when Gandalf immediately turned and ran away again, but he was surprisingly quick, and Yaeran stopped, watching him leave with an irritated stare.  
“Come on!” Gandalf huffed when he scrambled past Legolas once more, and the Mirkwood Prince nodded, running after Gandalf once more.  
~~~  
Torgin glided slowly over the battling armies at his ease, streaming fire down on the pitiful creatures squirming about below him.  
Elves fled from below him like insects.  
His attack was choked off, however, when the annoying SnowDrake traitor, Hyansul, slammed into his side, pushing him away from the soldiers below.  
He didn’t understand why the SnowDrake was trying to save them…but…when he had lost his connection momentarily with Sauron, as corrupted as he was, he didn’t know why he was fighting them. It was almost a waste of time, as if he were a mere machine of war…  
Hyansul bit deeply into the base of a wing and Torgin roared furiously, twisting away from the much younger dragon. His violent movement easily flung Hyansul away, since he was so much smaller, but he could see the glittering white streak in the corner of vision, and he knew Khelekmin’s son wasn’t giving up easily. He never had.  
Torgin barrel-rolled himself to be behind the SnowDrake, flapping powerfully to catch up to him. The younger dragon looked over his shoulder at him with almost uncaring pale eyes.  
Hyansul seemed very tired, Torgin noticed.   
Perhaps it was because his maggoty little Elven friend was no longer on his back, offering him power in their joined minds.   
Whatever the reason, it meant that the smaller dragon no longer had agility on his side, and Torgin knew that it was time to end their small travesty.  
~~~  
Hyansul desperately dodged Torgin’s jaws, tucking his white tail almost comically when the MountainDrake’s jaws snapped dangerously close to his body.  
He was exhausted, feeling as if he had no energy left to spare. Without Athey, his vitality didn’t feel as never-ending.  
With a final, desperate maneuver, Hyansul propelled himself upwards in a short arc, allowing his weight to land him on top of the MountainDrake.  
Using his claws, he tore at several scales along the much larger dragon’s back, but Torgin flipped and twisted himself in the air, beginning to free-fall, and Hyansul could feel his grip lessening. He desperately grasped at his back several times.  
With an explosion of dull red scales, the speed of their fall tore Hyansul from the large dragon’s back, and he spread his wings in an attempt to slow his fall.  
Torgin had turned back towards him now with furiously gleaming eyes, and Hyansul twisted in the air, fleeing the other way.  
In a moment of confusion, pausing in his steep ascent, Hyansul saw Khelekmin, his father, rise over the edge of a cliff on the Fire-Mountain, and he stared in surprise when he saw Menelaudh’s small-brother’s father on his back, clutching a glowing blue arrow in his hand.   
~~~  
Athey separated from Eardaneth when the auburn-haired Elf and Thranduil had paused to stare up in the air at Hyansul and Torgin battling in the sky above, scales littering down about them on the ground.  
“HYANSUL!” Athey couldn’t scream the dragon’s name any louder as he ran clumsily over the ground. He could tell by how the SnowDrake was flying that he was exhausted from battling the impossible enemy, and Athey felt somewhat guilty.  
“Hyansul, come get me!”  
There was a loud roar that echoed down from further up the mountainside, and Athey thought that it was Menelaudh or her rival, but he stopped running, frozen, and stared in amazement when Khelekmin rose over a cliff further on the Fire-Mountain.  
Hyansul did the same, having thought they had killed the much larger SnowDrake, but he was flying upwards, swiftly…with a rider.  
Athey took his gaze from the surprising spectacle in time to see Torgin take advantage of Hyansul’s pause, crashing into the smaller SnowDrake with vicious force.  
Hyansul made a single sound of surprise before Torgin’s jaws closed over his unprotected neck with unforgiving might, holding him securely in his ruddy claws.  
With a violent twist of his entire body, Torgin turned himself until there was a sickening ‘pop’, and he released Hyansul’s body to let it fall limply to the ground, wings billowing like ships’ sails.  
Athey couldn’t speak, was too surprised and shocked to do much, but he felt overwhelming grief beginning to build in his chest as he watched Hyansul’s body crumple into the ground upon impact.  
Not only was the SnowDrake he was growing very fond of dead, but now there was little to no chance of Menelaudh facing Torgin, Khelekmin, and the smaller dragon alone.   
Athey didn’t want to think about what this meant for all of the Elves battling upon the Fire-Mountain today.  
He stared up at Torgin as the MountainDrake back-flapped high in the air, ensuring his rival’s death in satisfaction, before he turned towards the Fire-Mountain as if summoned and began flying towards it’s summit slowly, where Menelaudh and the other Drake were battling each other.  
~~~  
Eardaneth did not know enough curses to shout at the retreating MountainDrake after he had slain Hyansul, fury tunneling his vision, but he forced himself to calmness, not wishing the violence and curses of his father and forefathers upon his actions.  
Thranduil tapped him, shouting in his ear above the roar of battling soldiers, “We need to go get more arrows. Allow your son and Itryd to hold this front, for they are god leaders. We need to help kill those dragons. The black one cannot do it alone!”   
Eardaneth nodded, glancing about for Earathran, and saw his black-uniformed son battling strongly beside Itryd, the leader of the uncorrupted Avari, matching his black-eyed companions in height alone.  
He would be alright.  
“Come. Let us take that corrupted beast from the air,” Eardaneth shouted, then sprinted with Thranduil away from the soldiers and back towards his elder brother and the Dwarf.  
~  
“SeaGaze, there are only two arrows left. We have no more powder,” Yaeran said calmly, desperately hoping his fiery-spirited brother was listening, for his sapphire eyes were burning as the sun in their anger and determination, “Do you understand? There are only two, no more.”   
Both Elves before him, Eardaneth and Thranduil, were covered with drying blood, not their own, except that Eardaneth had one pointed ear badly cut.  
“That is fine. One for the giant one, and one for the white one,” Eardaneth reached for the arrows but Yaeran held them out of reach behind his back like a pestering elder brother…which, at the moment, Eardaneth thought, he very much was acting the part.   
“Menelaudh can handle that last dragon that is her size,” Thranduil said, recalling the dragoness’ name, but Yaeran opened his mouth to speak, and Thranduil, recognizing the expression from his days in academic tutoring, interrupted quickly, “She HAS to, Yaeran. She cannot kill either of those massive dragons, they’re too large. You saw how easily the small SnowDrake was killed once he was caught up.”  
Yaeran still seemed reluctant to hand over the final two glowing arrows to the most brash warriors he knew, but, after he ran all options through his mind, he knew that with no riders, this was Menelaudh’s, and their Peoples’, only chance against the larger dragons.  
“You cannot miss, my brother,” he said quietly, slowly extending the delicate weapons, and Eardaneth snatched them from his hand, handing the bow to Thranduil, and replying,  
“Do not fear, Quiet One. If Menelaudh recovers Aldariil, then we will give the arrows to him.”  
“Good,” Yaeran nodded, and yelled after his retreating brother and young King, “Do not do anything that I would not, Eardaneth!”  
Eardaneth lifted one hand in acknowledgment.  
Yaeran glanced at Balin before smiling weakly and saying, “By Durin’s Beard, I do hope that I made a just decision.”  
“It was the only one you could make, laddie,” Balin patted the old Elf’s arm before turning to his weapon, preparing to give his hand in the pushing-back of their enemies, now that there was no more powder to mix and measure.  
~~~  
Menelaudh screamed in fright when Khelekmin’s massive form slammed into the dragon she was battling.   
She thought that he had missed her and reveled in evil satisfaction until she noticed Aldaraen upon his back.  
With a swift probe, she felt her father’s mind clear, incredibly weak, but it was clear.   
“Khelekmin!” she roared once in her young voice, and flipped happily in the air as an overjoyed child before soaring after him with a slightly raised tail.   
Khelekmin glanced over his shoulder with his good eye, and Aldaraen thought he could see a sense of pride in its depths as it briefly followed his ebony daughter.  
“Where is Hyansul?” the SnowDrake asked her strictly when Menelaudh coasted alongside him.  
“I do not know,” Menelaudh answered, and proceeded to babble about nonsense that Khelekmin couldn’t seem to stop.  
Aldaraen took a moment to be aware of his situation, astride a massive dragon, a young, yet large FireDrake, less than half of the SnowDrake’s size, flying beside him.   
“Menelaudh!” Khelekmin said loudly to interrupt her young voice, although he had a fuzzy tone about him that made Aldaraen smile, “Menelaudh, stay away for a moment, go and help the She-Elf you call Small-Sister. DragonScar and I will slay this corrupted cur.”  
As if on cue, the dragon flying behind them roared, and Aldaraen looked over his shoulder in alarm, readying his bow.  
“Oh. Alright, then!” Menelaudh said, and banked sharply to dive back towards the Fire-Mountain.  
“She’s lovely, you know. Very talkative,” Aldaraen patted Khelekmin’s shoulder and the SnowDrake bucked himself slightly in response, almost tossing the Elf from his back, so Aldaraen decided not to be smart anymore.  
“Ready your arrow for swift defeat,” Khelekmin grumbled, and, with surprising agility, turned in the air, almost perpendicular to the earth far below.  
Aldaraen was squeezing his scales so hard that his legs burned and ached, and he clutched the SnowDrake’s opalescent scales tightly in his hands.  
When the dragon had leveled out, Khelekmin ducked his low, and Aldaraen found himself with a horrifying view of nothing but sky before him, in a headlong course with a roaring dragon, who’s mouth was stretched open in anger at the SnowDrake’s treachery.   
Instinctively, Aldaraen nocked an arrow swiftly and aimed recklessly before firing the shaft. He breathed a sigh of relief and a swift thanks to the Valar when the arrow disappeared in the gaping maw of the nearing dragon, who snapped his mouth shut in surprise at the sting it inflicted.  
Khelekmin suddenly steeped upwards sharply and Aldaraen almost slipped from his back entirely, grabbing at the dragon with an alarmed yell.  
He felt a brief wave of heat as the arrow exploded, along with the dragon, below them.  
“Good shot,” Khelekmin said in calm praise, almost as Yaeran had done when he was a child, and Aldaraen voiced his thanks.  
~~~  
Sauron watched in furious surprise when Khelekmin turned on the last dragon besides Torgin, and the Elf that was on his back so far up in the sky, that he had THOUGHT was Garrik, fired one of the glowing arrows the Elves had so cleverly conjured in a way that he did not know.  
The dead dragon was falling through the sky towards the battlefield, and Sauron screamed his fury, knowing exactly what had happened within an instant.   
That SnowDrake had always been weak, hiding something, some bond that Sauron had never understood, but now it was too late to attempt and bring the massive dragon under control. He didn’t have the time, with Alinor’s attacks and Elrohir’s mental attacks, and his loss of connection with Torgin.   
With threw a mental probe out in all directions until he touched the familiar, destroyed mind of Torgin.   
With a furious thrust that he knew must’ve been painful, Sauron established a controlled connection with the dragon, shouting cryptic words, and called the massive MountainDrake to him.  
~~~  
Alinor was shocked when she saw Khelekmin aid Menelaudh, the smaller black dragoness even having glided alongside the SnowDrake for a small time.  
Now that the smaller dragon that had been blocking Elrohir from coming to attack Sauron as well was dead, Alinor watched as Khelekmin dove towards them, folding his great wings, Menelaudh behind her father like a small black shadow, the green jewel on her chest refracting the sunlight.   
Alinor knew that Sauron had called the last massive dragon named Torgin, for she had heard his loudly shouted, cryptic spell that had included the MountainDrake’s name.  
With a roar, Torgin rose swiftly directly behind her, where the edge of the Fire-Mountain was to her back, sending her hair almost straight up over her head from the wind of his passing. She screamed in shock, having not expected it, and flung herself forward to avoid being knocked from the mountainside.  
Khelekmin extended his claws and met the MountainDrake in the air with a furious scream, Menelaudh joining her father and latching onto Torgin’s back with her claws, tearing at scales as they battled through the sky.  
The dragons fell slower, Alinor noticed, because of all of the flapping and spreading of their wings, and she watched as the ferocious trio fell lower than her standing on the Fire-Mountain, both orange and blue fire mingling in the air.  
Alinor saw Aldaraen clutched onto Khelekmin’s back, shouting strengthening spells, and she felt her mouth fall open.  
Her father was riding the dragon that had stalked his every nightmare...battling with it.  
She was sure he would tell her the tale later, for her instinct made her whirl on her toes to catch a vicious blow from her mother’s blade at Sauron’s hand, and she couldn’t watch the dragons anymore.  
Seeing her father conquer the monster of his entire life and even befriend it, perhaps having listened to his Elflings’ words about Menelaudh and dragons in general, gave Alinor courage like she had never experienced before, blocking and parrying the Maia’s blows with greater strength and determination.  
She could add two more individuals to her growing mental list of avenging with the destruction of Sauron’s flesh body.  
She would be victorious for her father and the SnowDrake with the reclaimed mind.  
~~~  
Borug threw Aldariil’s light body easily from off of his back and into the cavern wall, pleased when the young Elf grunted in pain, but he struggled back to his feet like a stubborn insect and brandished his sword.  
Both combatants had several bleeding wounds, but both had a determination that was equally matched.  
Aldariil found that the large Orc was surprisingly strong and swift, but, for being the leader of the Orcs, wasn’t very talented with a blade.  
With a yell to embolden himself, Aldariil launched another attack on the Orc, trading several blows with trembling arms, knowing that if it weren’t for his strength, as well, then the Orc might as well have crushed him with the force of his blows alone.  
He stabbed Borug cleanly in the gut, but it wasn’t the first time.   
Apparently, the Orc could take either a lot of pain or was just meant for this sort of thing, and it irritated Aldariil more than anything else in his life.  
He attempted to yank his sword free when he realized his mistake of lodging it in the Orc’s armor, but Borug grasped his neck with a crushingly strong hand and lifted him from the ground.  
Aldariil struggled against him, more furious at himself than anything, and began kicking his legs angrily, striking against the Orc’s chest.  
Borug only laughed, enjoying watching the Elven Prince squirm, but Aldariil planted both boots on the cavern wall and pushed off of it with all of his might, forcing the Orc to take several steps backwards to regain his balance.   
His final step made him slip into the river that ran beneath the Fire-Mountain and he roared in fury, releasing Aldariil, who gasped for breath and swam for shore, since the current beneath the deceptively calm surface was incredibly strong and swift.  
Borug’s armor would weigh him down, and Aldariil was extremely grateful that he had removed Menelaudh’s crafted scales from himself, dressed only in his light leggings and tunic.  
He dragged himself through the water frantically, remembering the waterfall that Garrik had saved Alinor from falling over many, many years ago.   
The sun was brilliantly bright when he exited the cave, uncaring about whether Borug was following him or not, and he squinted his eyes against the glare on the water, grasping at riverweeds along the shore until he had pulled himself onto the bank safely.  
His hair hung down about his head, dripping ash, mud, and blood, and Aldariil fought to his feet.   
Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of the corrupted Avari and Orcs uncomfortably close as they were beaten backwards by the remaining armies of the Elves, now un-harassed by dragons.  
He focused ahead on Borug, beginning to trot along the river’s edge, when it seemed as though the Orc would go over the edge of the waterfall and land on the jagged boulders below.  
The Orcish leader grasped one of the boulders at the edges of the falls, however, and pulled himself forward onto it until he could begin to struggle to his feet, so Aldariil broke into a sprint, hoping to make it to the slick boulders where his agility would be a key advantage. He had played many times on the boulders with Menelaudh when she had been only the size of a large dog, bounding about in the water.  
With a graceful leap, Aldariil cleared the water and landed before Borug, blocking his escape.  
The Orc was weaponless, but he lunged at Aldariil with bared fangs, intent to kill him in any way that he could. The much younger Elf leapt up onto a higher boulder, feeling very at home now, and leapt back down behind the Orc, landing with light boots.  
Borug whirled about but slipped on the treacherous surface, and Aldariil immediately swung his blade, making a clean swipe across the Orc-leader’s vulnerable throat.  
Without a moment’s pause, Aldariil kicked Borug hard in the chest and the Orc fell backwards over the waterfall.   
Aldariil stood poised on the boulders until Borug’s body floated down the river, broken by the boulders, in a pool of black blood.   
With a sigh of exhaustion, Aldariil slumped, letting his sword hang limply at his side with a ‘clang’, his heart pounding in fear at the difficult struggle he had somehow managed to be victorious in.  
A hand grasped his shoulder and Aldariil whirled about with raised blade, but he was surprised to his dirty cousin, Legolas, standing behind him with wide eyes, Gandalf behind him.  
“We thought we were not going to be swift enough to save you,” Gandalf said in relief, and Legolas added with a small smile,  
“You killed their leader, DragonKin.”  
Aldariil only nodded, every burn on his skin from Sauron’s witchcraft suddenly burning very painfully with the lessening levels of adrenalin, and he swooned a little, feeling Legolas grasp him under the arms.  
“The Orc’s leader, anyway,” Gandalf’s voice said, and Aldariil realized that his eyes were closed, but he couldn’t open them, feeling as though he were slipping far away into a world of beautiful slumber.  
“We can’t leave him here. They’re retreating this way. I have to take him back to Yaeran, Gandalf, he’s wounded terribly,” Legolas said, his voice muffled, and Gandalf’s reply was lost to Aldariil’s ears.  
He lost consciousness and fell heavily into the other Prince’s arms.  
~~~  
Elrohir watched as Torgin and Khelekmin flew by, Torgin in pursuit of the SnowDrake, and the next moment, vice versa.  
Menelaudh was falling behind, bit by bit, and Elrohir knew that the young dragon must be exhausted.  
He had seen Hyansul easily killed when the SnowDrake had grown weary and distracted, and Elrohir found himself fearing for the FireDrake’s safety now, before Torgin realized her vulnerability.   
Sauron would turn the MountainDrake on her because of her bond with Alinor, and Elrohir realized the slight fondness he held for the young dragoness.  
She needed a rider to offer her power in joined magic and aid…  
Even as he was thinking it, Elrohir felt quite stupid.   
But he would be more use to Alinor if Menelaudh could be made stronger with his help…and he could better attack Sauron’s mental protections, searching for a weakness.  
Forcing himself not to overthink the situation, knowing it was for the best, Elrohir dug deep inside of his core and loosed the loudest ‘howl’ he could muster, having seen Alinor and Aldariil call their dragon companion in such a manner.  
With a small twinge of fear, he watched as Menelaudh immediately turned towards him, growing larger and larger as she glided towards the ground.  
“Oh…why not…” Elrohir said to himself, waving a hand at the FireDrake, who roared her understanding welcome, and he ran along the ground away from her.   
Menelaudh coasted down close to the earth and Elrohir felt his heart leap into his throat when he gracefully bounded up several boulders on the ground, throwing himself from their summit and leaping high into the air.  
Menelaudh’s claw snatched him up gently and tossed him in the air, and Elrohir felt his teeth collide painfully when he landed atop the dragon’s back.  
He realized he was backwards, so he quickly and awkwardly straightened himself upon her back, grasping her scales not a moment too soon when she abruptly began to ascend steeply into the air.  
“Thank you, small-brother!” Menelaudh crooned happily, and Elrohir patted her heartily with both hands, laughing nervously.  
Elrond was going to kill him.  
~~~


	24. Kin ~ Chapter 23

Yaeran watched as Balin disappeared into the ranks of Elves pushing the Orcs and Avari up the Fire-Mountain’s side.  
The old Dwarf was the shortest on the battlefield but he might as well possess the most courage.  
It wasn’t until Yaeran felt the brief spasm of pain in his forearm that he realized he was clutching his staff too tightly and holding his breath as he stared out across the battlefield.   
There was so much blood, everywhere he looked, so many bodies…and he knew he didn’t have the mental capacity to be anxious about every Elf that had either lost his or her life or still battled on.  
It was in a moment such as this that Yaeran wondered what the true worth of life was. It was taken so easily.  
He had lost his eldest son, Volrion, and wasn’t certain if he could handle losing his younger two sons. They were each officers in the Guard, well-seasoned warriors, but fear crawled up Yaeran’s spine nonetheless.  
He forced his mind from worrying about his sons and concentrated on the largest problem at hand- What was to be done about the last massive Drakes?   
As if to answer his question, Yaeran’s eyes were drawn to the summit of the Fire-Mountain looming above him, where there was a darkness stifling the air, and Torgin, the huge MountainDrake flapped slowly about like a massive bird of prey.  
The dragons continued to seem to defy the laws of physics, when Torgin suddenly banked sharply, diving too swiftly, it seemed, for his size. Menelaudh and the large white SnowDrake, Khelekmin, appeared around the other side of the Fire-Mountain, the smaller FireDrake roaring a challenge.  
It confused Yaeran for a moment, but when he sent a tentative mental probe to the SnowDrake’s mind, he was shocked to find no raging darkness there, as there had been before. There was only brokenness, with a sense of final revenge, a final fight within the dragon against those that tortured him so cruelly.  
Khelekmin stooped sharply to avoid a steady stream of fire from the MountainDrake and Yaeran caught a glimpse of a slender rider clutched onto the SnowDrake’s back tightly.  
He didn’t know who it was, for the dragon quickly maneuvered again, hiding the rider from view, but Yaeran was dismayed.   
They had no more powder to work with, which meant that Eardaneth and Thranduil had the last two arrows… and Gandalf had taken one with Legolas.   
So, there were three arrows on the battlefield, none of which were in the hands of someone that Yaeran was comfortable with.   
With a rider, could the dragon’s heal their wounds, or was there a chance of their rider protecting them from the oncoming missile?   
Yaeran was disconcerted, but he didn’t know for sure, so, once again, he forced the troubling thoughts from his mind.  
He took slight consolation in the fact that Khelekmin’s mind seemed somewhat clear…Perhaps that was a good thing? In which case, Torgin was the only massive dragon that they had to worry about…  
Yaeran tapped his staff thoughtfully in his hand once, then set out across the battlefield at a trot, making his way towards the pressing armies.  
“Quiet One!”   
Yaeran froze and glanced about himself in surprise, knowing it was Glorfindel that had called him. He felt himself drowned in memories of Gondolin, when the golden-haired warrior had confronted him whilst fleeing with his infant brother, Eardaneth.  
“Quiet One, your skills in magic are needed elsewhere!”  
His frozen manner lasted only briefly, and Yaeran immediately made his way to the elder Elf once he had found him, covered in dried blood and mud.  
“The orchestrator of evil,” Glorfindel pointed towards the summit of the Fire-Mountain with his sword, staring at Yaeran with sharply glinting blue eyes, “That is where our true challenge lies.”  
“What if we are not powerful enough?” Yaeran asked immediately, but Glorfindel shook his head, answering,  
“Then we shall have to find out. There is no victory if Sauron is not defeated.”  
Yaeran wished to disagree, but he silenced his tongue and scrambled after Glorfindel, feeling prickles of fear on his arms when he was temporarily deafened by a dragon scream tearing past over his head.  
~~~  
Gandalf clutched the glowing blue arrow protectively in his hand, using the other to clamber up a small rise made by the battling dragons. He prepared to leap down into the gorge when Legolas grasped the back of his dirty grey tunic, yanking him back so hard that his soggy pointed hat, somehow still upon his head, was yanked free from its perch. Gandalf barely managed to grab it from the air, turning to look at the Prince in irritation, but he quickly saw the problem.  
Garrik stood before them on the opposite edge of the gouge in the earth, sword drawn, endless black eyes gleaming.  
Gandalf hadn’t seen him approach when he had almost clambered down into the gorge. That would’ve been sure death, although there was a sense of hesitation to the young Avari’s posture.  
“Garrik…” Gandalf looked at him appraisingly, “Garrik, lad, I suggest you get out of our way.”  
“You’re not going anywhere,” Garrik answered, brandishing his sword in front of him, standing perfectly between Gandalf and the Fire-Mountain.  
“Move, lad,” Gandalf said more demandingly, trying to reach out to the young Avari with a string of magic, but he was met with a furious wall of defense. Gandalf didn’t have such a close bond with him to continue, so he immediately gave up, repeating, “Move, Garrik, or I will move you myself!”  
“What are you going to do?” Garrik smirked at him, “Call upon the wrath of the rabbits?”  
“No, lad, that’s more or less Radagast’s job,” Gandalf replied dryly.  
Garrik only frowned, unamused, before lifting his hands, an eerie glow beginning to form in his palms, but Gandalf brandished his staff and warned, “It takes two to play that game, lad. Come now, Garrik. Where was the young Elf I knew?”  
Garrik paused, looking at Gandalf’s staff, but he looked behind the grey Wizard at Legolas, Gandalf turning as well when he heard a soft rustle behind him.  
Haldir and his two elder brothers, Rumil and Orophin, stood beside the Mirkwood Prince, bows drawn.  
Garrik made a small sigh of irritation before muttering cryptic words and throwing his arms out, disappearing in a brief black mist.   
Gandalf was momentarily surprised, having not known Garrik had grown so talented in his use of magic, be it black or not.   
“Will you try to save him?” Legolas asked the Wizard, seeming to read his mind, but Gandalf only shook his head once, replying evenly,  
“Garrik is the master of his own fate now. I would prefer not to interfere.”  
~  
Haldir watched as Gandalf and Legolas continued on their cautious path up the Fire-Mountain’s steep slopes.  
Garrik had seemingly come from nowhere, which implied to Haldir that he was looking for someone, since he wasn’t with the Avari or Orcish armies being pressed back towards the Fire-Mountain’s cavern entrance.  
It worried him greatly.  
A massive shadow and gust of wind passed over them, nearly knocking the three brothers from their feet.   
Haldir looked up to see Menelaudh soar past overhead, but Aldariil was no longer upon her back, it was… Elrohir.   
“Elrohir is upon the dragon’s back!” Rumil exclaimed rather uselessly, and Haldir wondered where Aldariil was.   
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. It won’t help,” Haldir said, stowing his bow neatly over his shoulder again.  
His brothers knew what he was referring to.   
Hyansul’s untimely death meant that it was Menelaudh against the final large dragons, and it didn’t take a dragon-master to realize that the FireDrake was too young to stand a chance against the much larger dragons.  
For a moment, Haldir wondered why they had come.  
~  
Legolas scrambled up a steep rock face after Gandalf, but the Wizard was fast and almost seemed to be leaving him behind unconsciously, thinking heavily on other matters.  
The young Prince paused from their swift ascent to look out over the battling armies.   
His gaze found the grounded dragonrider, Athey, battling furiously, undoubtedly to avenge his slain, dragon companion.  
He was bleeding and bruised in several places, and Legolas prepared to follow Gandalf, who was several meters above him now, but he watched as an Avari knocked the young Elf’s sword from his hand and delivered a clean slice across his abdomen.  
Legolas gasped in shock, not having expected it, as the half-Silvan, half-Avari Elf fell limply on his back, red slowly seeping through his tunic.  
Both dragon-riders were now terribly wounded…perhaps dead, and Legolas found himself scrambling down the mountainside towards Athey’s unmoving body, unable to leave an Elf wounded and in pain if he could do something about it.  
Gandalf would be alright, seeing as he had already left him behind, anyway.  
Legolas knelt beside the young Elf, lightly touching his shoulder, and was shocked when he cracked open a golden eye.  
“If I act dead, they won’t kill me,” he muttered.  
“So… you’re alright?” Legolas asked slowly, retracting his hand, but the younger Elf glanced down at his stomach and tried to sit up. He huffed and fell back on his back, replying,  
“No, actually. I’m not.”  
“I’m honored to carry the dragonriders to safety,” Legolas joked lightly, lifting the smaller Elf carefully, and Athey desperately kept his face stoically brave, replying,  
“Thank you, my Prince.”  
Legolas lifted Athey carefully and began to struggle out of the fray, making it a few clumsy steps forward before being stopped by a wall of Orcs.  
“Well, if it isn’t the Prince of--!” one of the larger Orcs began to sneer, brandishing their weapons, but before the brute could finish his sentence, his head was cleanly removed from his body from behind.  
Legolas watched in surprise as a group of Men set upon the Orc party, cleanly finishing them all off and opening a way towards the safety of the forest beyond.  
A tall man stepped forward and nodded once, sheathing his sword and saying, “We offer our aid in honor of the stories my grandfather, Numonex, spoke of his Elven friends, who once saved us from danger of another kind many years ago. Lord Aldaraen’s name lives in Gwemyr as legend. Perhaps we might now help him as he once helped us.”  
Legolas glanced at the many Men standing before him before answering simply, “I’m sure that you can,” and he ran through the Men, feeling their eyes follow him in wonder.  
~~~


	25. Kin ~ Chapter 24

Alinor leapt out of the way and pressed herself against the rocky face of the Fire-Mountain just as Sauron’s sword, or rather her mother’s sword, clashed against the rocks where she had just been standing.   
Sauron yelled in fury at the pain that reverberated back into his arms and he threw himself around the boulder to confront the swift She-Elf, but she was already above his head once more, clambering up the steep slope.  
Sometimes Alinor would pause to exchange several swift blows with the Maia before climbing up towards the summit once more, and Sauron couldn’t tell if she was fleeing or actually executing some plan and luring him to the summit…  
He was rather certain that she was fleeing, since she would have a better chance at battling him on level ground.  
Elrohir’s long-distance, powerful aid in assaulting Sauron’s witchcraft and mental barriers had ceased, and Alinor wondered with a sick heart what had befallen her husband. She could still keep Sauron’s mental attacks to her own mind somewhat deflected, but it was draining her power quickly without Elrohir’s added Maia-power.  
A familiar glint of a green jewel caught Alinor’s attention in the corner of her vision, and she looked out across the tree-tops below to see Menelaudh soaring after Khelekmin, the two dragons attempting to keep Torgin away from his master.   
Alinor had to stare for a moment when she recognized Elrohir astride the dragoness’ back. She felt a mixed sense of relief and worry- Relief, for Menelaudh had a powerful ally upon her back, and worry for her missing younger brother. For all of his bravery and courage, he would always be her little brother, and she cared deeply for his safety.  
Alinor realized that her mental connection was dropping with Menelaudh and Elrohir both, for they must be concentrating on the defeat of Torgin, along with Khelekmin and Aldaraen.  
Either that or Sauron was destroying her contact purposefully, seeing as he didn’t have full control on Torgin and the smaller Drake he had been using had been killed.  
Alinor wondered if this made Sauron weaker.  
She paused and waited for Sauron to leap up onto a small ledge in pursuit of her before swinging her sword, intent on decapitation.  
Sauron was always swifter, deflecting her blow and twisting her violently onto the ground, throwing her away, but Alinor leapt back up onto her feet, ducking the flesh-Maia’s follow-up.  
Swiftly regaining her balance, Alinor brandished her blade once more, fury blinding her to caution, but before she could throw herself towards the smirking Maia, the thought of the Ring screaming in the back of her mind, a gentle, yet firm hand landed on her shoulder.  
Alinor immediately recognized the grip as her former academic tutor’s, Yaeran, and she remained still, an immediate sense of calm and protection wrapping about her.   
Sauron stared at him incredulously before narrowing his amber gaze and hissing, “Son of Maedhros. What an unexpected pleasure.” With a jerk of his arms, the darkness that had been surrounding them, that Alinor hadn’t particularly noticed, receded until it was hovering about only Sauron himself, “Would you join your father in his fate?”   
It was only then that Alinor realized a white glow emanated from Yaeran and Glorfindel, who stood at her other shoulder.  
“You would make the Princess of Mirkwood realize she is not powerful enough to defeat me? You would make her realize what a worthless warrior she has been to her People?” Sauron laughed, but Glorfindel immediately responded,  
“She never requested an absence of aid…. Smart lass.”  
“She was trained my brother, SeaGaze, and I am pleased to see that she remains yet alive. Is that not complimenting enough, faced against a fallen Maia? I would think you should be ashamed,” Yaeran said evenly, but Sauron replied dismissively,  
“The son of Maedhros and he who returned from the Halls of Mandos… Lady SkyDancer has indeed chosen her allies well.”  
“She is even wed to he who shares in your powers…” Yaeran narrowed his eyes slightly, “No, Fallen-One, she does not choose her allies wisely. I believe it is you that has ill judgement in your enemies.”  
“You have great confidence in your power,” Sauron said quietly, then flung his arms outwards in a great explosion of black magic.  
Glorfindel and Yaeran both took a step forward, bracing themselves and extending a hand calmly, creating their own barriers of white magic.  
Alinor felt her long hair blow backwards and she crouched slightly in shock, wondering how Sauron had summoned so much power abruptly. She noticed Torgin circling closer and closer amidst the swirling darkness about her and wondered if Sauron had regained contact with the dragon’s mind.  
This battle of dark and light magic lasted several seconds that seemed to drag on forever before both powers receded simultaneously, Yaeran taking a few stumbling steps backwards, as if suddenly weary.   
Alinor stared at the elder Elf in worry until he regained his powerful pose once more, feeling chills creep down her arms when she realized she was witnessing possibly the two most powerful Elves remaining on Middle-Earth battle with the fallen Maia. She felt as if she were witnessing, and taking part in, a piece of history.  
With several shouted phrases, Glorfindel launched his own attack of magic that Yaeran followed up on, and Alinor found herself frozen, unsure of what to do, feeling as if she were watching Sauron’s beautiful guise slipping away as his pompous expression melted into that of pure fury.  
Yaeran smiled to himself as he calmly deflected several attacks of witchcraft from the golden-haired Maia, watching as Alinor abruptly bolted forward, wielding her blade and attacking the fallen Maia’s flesh body with all her might, causing the most appropriate of distractions and making Sauron’s defense, and attacks, that much more sporadic.   
She always had a way of proving that she was of Opherion’s House.  
~~~  
Gandalf had seen the 2 nimble Elves bound up the Fire-Mountain as if it were nothing but a meadow’s hill, even for their own great age.  
He held the glowing arrow gritted between his teeth and desperately tried to keep the bow on his back from hitting the boulders around him too hard, blowing unruly, muddy blonde hair from his eyes.  
When he had been given his flesh-form by the Valar, he wondered why it had not been an Elf.  
~~~  
Eardaneth yelled in frustration, watching as Thranduil lowered his bow, Torgin and Khelekmin flying too far away to fire the arrows at.  
It almost seemed as if Khelekmin and Menelaudh were working together, attempting to keep Torgin away from the Fire-Mountain’s summit, where great flashes of light continued to erupt, but Torgin had finally broken through and was evading their attacks, drawing closer and closer to the Fire-Mountain.  
Thranduil turned and stared at Eardaneth questioningly, his icy blue eyes strikingly vivid against his muddy face.  
Eardaneth’s mind was racing, and he watched as Khelekmin and Menelaudh managed to drive Torgin back away from the Fire-Mountain, almost herding him and, at some points, colliding with him in the air and pushing him backwards in a brutal strength-match.  
Eardaneth narrowed his sapphire eyes, staring at the Elf clinging to Menelaudh’s back.   
Amid the roar of the battle around them, Eardaneth could hear Elrohir’s pure voice strongly shouting strengthening spells.  
“That’s Alinor’s husband,” Thranduil observed evenly, staring up at the twisting and acrobatic black dragoness as she maneuvered around Torgin, providing backup for the larger white dragon.  
“Khelekmin is helping her,” Eardaneth realized, then looked down in his hand at the glowing arrow he held, the other in a relaxed pose on the young King’s bow.  
The thought struck him immediately when he heard broken whistling’s above the roars of the dragons.  
“We have to get these to Elrohir!” Eardaneth prodded Thranduil’s back to get the young King’s attention, “Do you hear that whistling? Elrohir must’ve been paying attention… or someone is up there!”   
“What does that mean--?” Thranduil began, but Eardaneth shoved the other arrow into his dirty hand, interrupting,  
“It means that they want an arrow. Listen to me, young Elf,” he grasped Thranduil’s arm, sapphire gaze ablaze in concentration as he delivered his orders, “I cannot climb that series of boulders quickly without my arm,” he indicated his stubbed arm, as his father before him, before pointing at the huge boulder outcropping that Radagast had been standing on before becoming lost, “Climb that, Thranduil, and hold the arrows in the air so that the dragon or Elrohir might see them. When you hear the whistle, they will come for you, and give the arrows to them.”  
“Them--?” Thranduil genuinely seemed frightened at the prospect at getting any closer to the dragons, so Eardaneth shoved him heartily in the chest, pushing him back.  
“Go, Thranduil!” he shouted, and the young King nodded once, turning and hurrying away several paces before stopping and looking over his shoulder, distraught, and yelling,  
“Eardaneth, I AM sorry for how I treated you and Yaeran--!”   
“I know! I forgive you! GO, LAD!” Eardaneth roared after him, although he felt a smile break across his face, and Thranduil nodded sheepishly, turning and dashing away.  
Eardaneth ran towards the thick of the battle, making his way towards the tall, auburn-haired Elf dressed in black, bearing his same, brilliant blue eyes.  
~~~  
Thranduil scraped his arms badly several times before he finally heaved himself to the top of the tower of boulders.   
He was immediately surprised to see Radagast crouching beside the walls of stone, covering his head, the young boy appearing very frightened and his brown clothing singed black, probably from a dragon passing overhead.  
When he saw what Thranduil carried, he held his hands out spasmodically, only aware of his job at throwing arrows to the dragon-riders, but Thranduil shook his head and scrambled past him, clambering to the pinnacle of the tower.  
He swayed briefly when he looked down at the swarming armies before him, feeling like quite an obvious target, before he turned his gaze to the grey sky.   
The three dragons were battling high in the air, but Thranduil could still hear every flap from their massive wings, the roars as they confronted one another.  
He felt sick to the stomach when he unconsciously held his arm rigidly in the air with the glowing blue arrows serving as a beacon.   
Someone had obviously been watching for him or Radagast, for almost immediately, the massive white SnowDrake crumpled in the air, a trick maneuver to escape Torgin, and he dived shortly before spreading his wings and flying at frightening speed towards Thranduil’s post.  
Thranduil felt sick to the stomach, remembering how the SnowDrake’s tail had crushed him so many years ago, but he remained frozen staunchly where he was, arm in the air, clutching the blue arrows, as he literally drew the attention of the three dragons to himself.  
It might’ve been the single most idiotic thing he had ever done.  
His sickness grew to making him feel faint, his vision tunneling, forgetting to throw the arrows in the air, as the massive white dragon streaked towards him, Torgin pursuing him with a deafening roar, Menelaudh behind them.  
The piercing whistle of the extended sword turned flat in the wind came from Khelekmin, Thranduil realized, as it drew ever closer, and he trusted his gut, closing his eyes and keeping his arm raised.  
When nothing seemed to happen, Thranduil raised his gaze in time to see Khelekmin, surprised at Thranduil not throwing the arrows, turn himself upside-down in a sort of last-ditch effort, folding his wings, and Thranduil found himself staring into his brother’s round, focused gaze, albeit upside-down, as if he were in slow-motion.  
For the briefest of moments, Thranduil wondered what had happened since Aldaraen’s scarring by the white dragon, what had changed, for now the two were battling together and his younger brother, once petrified by even the name, was riding a dragon…  
His hand closed over his for a moment, taking the arrows cleanly from Thranduil’s still raised arm, and Aldaraen offered the briefest of small smiles to his dirty elder brother before time seemed to run back into its proper place.  
Khelekmin roared past and the wind of it carried Thranduil off the cliff, falling all the way to the ground to land heavily on his back.  
He was grateful for the deep mud which he was nearly entirely enveloped in now, but the impact had jarred him terribly and his back was numb, and he realized that his hand was still clenched in a fist as if still holding the arrows.  
His little brother, the brother that once been so frightened, Aldaraen…was battling in the air on Dragonback.  
Thranduil’s mind was swirling in confusion so badly that he just shut out all thoughts and lay there in the mud, absorbing his pain and concentrating on healing spells, poor as they were.  
He tasted blood in his mouth as the world around him began to grow darker and darker, and Thranduil knew he was going to lose consciousness.  
Just before his vision went black, Thranduil saw Radagast lean over him, young face frightened, and felt his cool hands touching his skin, checking him, his voice, distant, saying,  
“You’ll be alright, I think. I know it’s scary, to be faced by a dragon.”  
If only it were that simple.  
Thranduil groaned to himself before letting his head fall limply into the mud.  
~~~  
After Raebidus had watched Khelekmin fall over the cliff opposite the cavern entrance, taking a horrified Aldaraen with him, his heart had just nearly entirely broken. He had immediately turned from the sight and ran blindly until his lungs ached and he was nearly back to the thick of the fighting.  
He decided not to dwell on the deaths he had just witnessed, the thought of them threatening to overrun his mind, so he focused instead on what held the most importance in his heart.  
The red-haired Man turned a swift circle, scanning every body on the battlefield, alive or dead, for the slender, freckled, tall young Elf he knew as his brother.  
“GARRIK!” he screamed the Avari’s name uselessly, hearing his own rage and torment in the sound of his voice.  
He could not belief that his once pure-hearted, younger brother would have any hand in orchestrating such a massacre as this.  
“GARRIK!” Raebidus screamed again, louder than he had ever heard his voice before, and he began battling his way through the corrupted Avari and Orcs, felling any enemy that moved before him in his rage.   
Midst his battling, Raebidus wondered if there actually was any hope for saving his brother and pulling him free from the Necromancer’s grasp. If he was serving as a sort of Mouth for Sauron, aspiring to be a Captain of Sauron’s fell forces, would it disrupt the Avari forces if Garrik were killed, ending his enslavement, and perhaps push a victory more in their favor?   
It would at least put Garrik’s ruined mind out of its endless misery and torture.  
The thought sickened Raebidus, but in his heart, he knew that it might be an appropriate action.  
Many minutes later, it might have even been an hour, Raebidus found that he had battled his way through the armies to the other side, and he found himself faced with the Fire-Mountain.  
His sword was red, clenched in his fist, but Raebidus paid it no mind, focused on the fact that there had not been a single sign of his brother leading the Avari forces.  
He clambered up several boulders on the Fire-Mountain until he was a good height above the armies.  
His entire body ached, but he quickly forgot his pain, standing slowly, as his eyes were drawn to the heavens.  
The green pendant on Menelaudh’s chest glinted in the fading light and Raebidus watched in fear as she allowed Khelekmin, who must have survived his wounds and fall down the cliff, draw near to her, but nothing happened, both dragons turning in the air to pursue Torgin, the massive Mountain-Drake.  
Khelekmin and Menelaudh both attacked Torgin together, Menelaudh latching onto the much larger dragons back and tearing at his scales like a small cat, while Torgin was occupied in keeping his neck out of Khelekmin’s powerful jaws.  
It was then that Raebidus noticed the two Elves offering their power to the dragons they were astride, Elrohir and…Aldaraen.  
Raebidus was light-headed from shock until he saw Torgin turn with a roar, clawing Menelaudh from his back with one swoop of his claw and sending her spinning through the air, only to right herself before impact with the ground thanks to her skilled flying.   
How Elrohir remained upon the young dragon’s back was a mystery to Raebidus. He answered his question by attributing it to his Elven skill.  
Torgin turned to flee, making a straight line towards Raebidus’ position, the Mountain-Drake looking over his shoulder for the majority of his flight to stream fire at the pursuing Khelekmin.  
Raebidus crouched, covering his head instinctively, when Torgin looked ahead and immediately banked upwards, sharply, narrowly avoiding the rocky pinnacle the Man crouched upon.  
Through narrowed eyes, he watched Khelekmin’s opalescent underside roar past, as well, and could see Menelaudh moments away from following in their wake up the Fire-Mountain, although she had already angled her path upwards.  
Before the FireDrake’s deafening wing-flaps became too loud, Raebidus heard a soft sound behind and above him, several smaller rocks and pebbles clattering down about him, and he whirled around in his sitting position to stare up the mountainside.  
In a moment of sickening panic, Raebidus saw Garrik crouched atop a boulder high above him as if he had just landed heavily, a hand resting gently on the rock he was squatted upon, the other on the hilt of his sword- The sword Aldaraen had crafted for him.  
His eyes had always been black, but now his pupils seemed dilated, giving him a rather ethereal, wraith-like appearance, especially as his black facial covering was pulled into place. There were several bloody tears in his black uniform that he didn’t seem to notice.  
Raebidus prepared to confront him until he realized what Garrik was staring so intently at, following his gaze.   
A chance to kill the Elf Garrik viewed as stealing Alinor from his heart, and also the dragon that was aiding in killing his Master’s source of greater power… Raebidus knew that this was something Garrik would not pass.  
“GARRIK!” Raebidus began scrambling up the rocky face, but he watched in horror as the slender Avari leapt out from the mountainside gracefully, drawing his sword in midair and perfectly landing upon Menelaudh’s back, just where her tail met her back.   
Elrohir had leaned forward upon the Avari’s unexpected leap with barely a breath to lose, for the Avari had nearly cut his throat with his brandished blade.  
Raebidus forgot that Garrik was as accustomed to Dragonback as possibly Alinor and Aldariil, having helped raised Menelaudh. He wondered if the Avari remembered that in his corrupted state, although he doubted it.  
It was astounding now to watch the Elves battling one another in the air, as much as it was watching the dragons.  
Menelaudh back-flapped in shock, staring over her shoulder with an icy blue eye in confusion, and Raebidus heard her question, “Small-Brother?”  
Garrik didn’t seem to acknowledge the name whatsoever, entirely ignoring the FireDrake he was upon, and climbing slowly towards Elrohir.  
Khelekmin and Aldaraen had turned in flight, prepared to offer any assistance that they could, unsure of what Garrik would do, but Elrohir was well-aware of his adversary.   
The young Prince leapt in the air to land backwards on Menelaudh’s back, just in time to catch a violent blow from the Avari.   
Garrik appeared expressionless when he yanked the facial covering down, black jewel shining on his forehead like a third eye, as if driven by an out-of-body force, but Elrohir didn’t take the time to care, grasping Menelaudh’s scales in both hands and kicking out powerfully with his feet.  
Elrohir’s boots caught the other young Elf heavily in the jaw, snapping the Avari’s head back and releasing a stream of blood from his mouth, but Garrik was still viper-swift, grasping Elrohir’s ankle in his hand.  
With a desperate yell, Elrohir twisted himself, ripping Garrik from his place on Menelaudh’s back, but he felt his hands clenching nothing but air when the Avari yanked him from the dragoness’ back, as well.  
His heart leapt into his throat as he plummeted through the air and he heard Menelaudh’s infuriated roar.  
He could see Garrik falling with an eerie calmness far to his side, and was horrified when Torgin suddenly swooped into view, letting the Avari King collide violently on his back and almost immediately the massive dragon, spreading his wings, disappeared from view.  
Twisting himself in the air, Elrohir found himself face-to-face with Menelaudh’s massive head, her icy blue eyes narrowed as she maneuvered beneath him, and Elrohir caught the base of her wing gently, landing solidly on his feet when the Fire-Drake righted herself.  
Elrohir knew that Sauron must have realized that the most important maneuvering of his battle was occurring in the sky, so he had sent the well-learned Avari to accompany and empower the Mountain-Drake.   
Torgin was currently nowhere to be seen, but Khelekmin lowered himself in the air until he was gliding beside Menelaudh, and Elrohir looked at Aldaraen, who had gone through a marked change.  
The golden-haired Elf’s face seemed haggard and weary, but there was a glow to him, as well. A healthy glow, something that Elrohir never remembered seeing about Alinor’s father.  
“We need to kill Garrik, or at least separate him from Torgin!” Aldaraen yelled above the wind, and Elrohir nodded as Thranduil’s brother continued, holding up two glowing blue arrows, “This is our only hope at killing Torgin with Garrik about. Garrik is a talented young Elf… He will aid that dragon with every bit of power he retains!”   
Elrohir could plainly see the remorseful glaze in Aldaraen’s sapphire eyes as he described killing Garrik, and Elrohir knew why, due to Alinor’s stories of their youth.  
Death was a terrible thing, but it was necessary, and if Aldaraen could not do it, then Elrohir was prepared to end the battle.  
~~~  
Haldir had watched as his brother, Rumil and Orophin, had made their way back to the main gathering of the armies, calling the Lothlorien Elves to their sides to battle better in strength.  
Even though he had trained many long years to obtain the rank of March-Warden in Mirkwood during his exchange, Haldir found himself leaving their soldiers to the commands of his brothers, seeking out his closest companion instead.  
He had been aware of her ascent on the Fire-Mountain, foolishly battling Sauron, but perhaps distracting him from the total destruction of their armies.   
Her brashness had always been something that Haldir disliked, but now, perhaps it had been a good thing.   
Yaeran and Glorfindel had quickly scaled the final reaches of the mountainside, and Haldir was preparing to go and offer his aid to his friend when he saw Gandalf, a glowing blue arrow clutched in his teeth like a rose, desperately battling a group of Avari, backed dangerously close to a cliff-side.  
With a groan, thinking that he had left Gandalf and Legolas, who was nowhere to be seen, in a safe position, Haldir gripped his blade and began leaping up boulders towards the struggling Wizard.  
Immediately upon landing on the plateau of stone that the Avari and Istari were battling upon, Haldir disarmed and ended two of the corrupted Elves.   
Gandalf, with no avenue of defense, threw his pointed hat in another Avari’s face, temporarily blinding him, while the young Wizard desperately finished off his current adversary.  
Haldir took advantage of the distraction of the pointed hat, ending the last Avari and grasping Gandalf’s grey scarf to pull him back to safety when he realized that the Istari was wheeling his arms in an attempt for balance, leaning out from the cliff-side when the now-slain Avari had kicked him backwards, still desperately clenching the glowing arrow in his teeth.  
“Thank you,” Gandalf huffed once he had retained his balance, returning the arrow to his hand. After a brief pause, he looked at the nervous Lorien Elf and added, “Do you think you might accompany me…seeing as you were on your way up, anyway?”  
“Think nothing of it,” Haldir nodded once, raising his eyebrows in quiet exasperation, but he followed Gandalf up the Fire-Mountain nonetheless.  
~~~  
~ Gwemyr powder shop…  
The two small male Hatchlings and their sister sat quietly in the crate they had been placed in, listening to the stifling silence outside in tense unsureness. The only movements they made were small twitchings of their tail or soft squeaks.  
They did not understand why they had been left alone for so long, and it was frightening.  
The silence seemed to stretch on and on, almost becoming worse than loud noise, so when there was a splitting ‘crack’ behind them, all three Hatchlings jumped in terror, letting out a unanimous squeak of fear.  
When they had all squirmed around to face the noise, they were surprised to see a long crack in the remaining egg, and a spindly tail soon fell out of it.   
With much squirming and fighting, the youngest dragoness finally broke free, rolling out of her confining shell to stretch her ragged wings weakly in the hay.   
She could not turn herself upright as hard as she tried, and, with a piercing wail, she reached out in all directions for parental aid.  
~~~  
~ Battle at the Fire-Mountain…  
Torgin felt a sudden stab in his mind from a newly hatched Hatchling in distress, a Hatchling that had somehow connected to him with a spurt of magic.  
Intentional or not, he now had an idea where the Elf had hidden his Hatchlings, and Garrik immediately tugged hard on his scales, yanking his head towards the city.  
With a roar, Torgin averted his course to Gwemyr, something in the back of his mind telling him that Sauron would be pleased to have the Hatchlings, future members of his army, recovered.  
Menelaudh roared in confusion, flapping quickly to follow the new course, Khelekmin following as Torgin raced away from them.   
Sauron would want them back.  
~~~


	26. Kin ~ Chapter 25

Alinor screamed in her desperate attempt to twist away from Sauron when he locked their blades, but he was too strong, pulling her closer to his body until she could feel his heat. She felt sweat rolling down the sides of her cheeks; either that, or they were tears of fury, fury at the pain that he had wrought upon her family and friends, fury that was now finally being released. She allowed her furious emerald gaze to meet the Fallen Maia’s surprisingly calm eyes, and she gasped when several visions of the Ring which tempted her flashed before her eyes.  
She saw the corrupted Avari turned into a form of superior Orc, retaining their taller stature, but possessing a different sort of malice. She saw dragons twisted in their minds, bent to the will of the Dark lord, and then she saw Garrik, astride Torgin, chasing after her dragoness companion, her father, and her husband; those that were slaying Sauron’s dragons.  
With a mental effort, feeling Yaeran’s presence aid her in magic, peeling the Maia’s overwhelming influence from her mind, Alinor yanked herself free from the visions, snarling, “Stop making those of pure heart and mind perform your evil deeds. Release Garrik.”  
“Nothing could save his enslaved mind but the power of a god,” Sauron dismissed sarcastically, but he was forced backwards by a powerful attack of magic from Glorfindel and Yaeran.  
Alinor was finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish between anger and common sense, her righteous fury and pride getting the best of her, as her father, she knew, but in her stubbornness, she found that she did not care.  
“You will not aid us in victory in such fury,” Yaeran’s quiet voice spoke beside her, and she looked up at the aged Elf in surprise, meeting his gentle blue eyes, such the opposite of his younger brother.  
“We cannot find victory—“ she began, but Yaeran made her quiet, replying evenly,  
“There is other victory to be had, young one. And you might succeed in stealing his body of flesh with the aid of a few friends. Keep your head about you. The Elves of Mirkwood are so unpredictable and….volatile. That is why young Elrohir is such your compliment.”  
“Elrohir is—“  
“He retains a calmness that you do not, when it is necessary,” Yaeran raised an eyebrow at her, then smiled and finished, “Now prove to us what you have been taught, that the valor of your fathers before you runs through your veins! For death or for life, fly forth, dragon rider!”   
The words calmed Alinor’s rushing heart and mind, filling her with a courage renewed, and she turned to Sauron once more, who was facing off with Glorfindel.  
Yaeran joined in Glorfindel’s assault, Alinor charging into the Maia with a renewed and focused attack, driving Sauron upwards towards the final rise of the Fire-Mountain. She knew exactly where they were.  
~~~  
Menelaudh was a surprisingly swift young dragon, Elrohir realized, clutching the FireDrake’s scales tightly as each powerful flap sent her surging forward almost recklessly.   
With a slow ease, she passed beneath her father, Khelekmin, and Elrohir stared up at the massive SnowDrake’s glittering white belly before turning his gaze to the steadily growing MountainDrake that they were pursuing.  
Garrik, upon Torgin’s back, suddenly flung his arm outwards, sending a fatal round of dark magic in their direction, but Elrohir calmly diverted it with his own.   
Menelaudh’s jaw snapped dangerously close to the tip of Torgin’s tail, making a hollow ‘clunk’ sound.  
Before Elrohir had a chance to react, Torgin wheeled himself around and literally slapped Menelaudh out of the air with a massive claw, the Elf’s world began spinning uncontrollably.  
Menelaudh righted herself swiftly, but Elrohir could see the dark crimson blood glistening on the ebony scales of her neck and shoulder. He murmured healing words, but he wasn’t sure what good it would do her.  
Ignoring the pain, Menelaudh began flying swiftly towards the MountainDrake once more.  
Torgin had lost a bit of lead upon his pause to attack Menelaudh, and Khelekmin now entered battle with him, claws meeting claws.  
The two massive dragons began losing altitude swiftly as they tore at one another’s scales, their screams deafening, and Menelaudh hung back tentatively, knowing it would be a disaster to try and intercept now.  
The only way that Elrohir knew that Aldaraen was still upon the SnowDrake’s back was for the brief glowing blue flashes that he glimpsed upon each of the battling dragons’ turns in the air.  
A dark haze, much like the atop the Fire-Mountain, had begun to gather about Torgin, and Elrohir wondered if the joined magics of Garrik and the MountainDrake would be too much for them to compete against.  
“We have to separate them so Aldaraen might get a clean shot,” Elrohir yelled at Menelaudh, and the dragoness nodded, folding her wings and diving towards the larger dragons.  
Elrohir’s heart was in his throat, and he braced himself just before impact with the MountainDrake, seeing Menelaudh’s massive wings spread to balance herself when she crashed into Torgin’s back, her claws making horrendous screeching noises across his scales.  
There was a brief flash of steel before Menelaudh was thrown from Torgin’s back once more, and Elrohir felt stinging pain along his thigh. He glanced down to see a long, glistening tear in his pants.  
Anger at Garrik began to build in Elrohir’s heart more so than against Torgin, and Elrohir gripped his own blade tighter, finding himself focusing closer on the Avari’s position on the MountainDrake’s back than on the dragon itself.  
If he could kill Garrik, then he would take away the Avari Elves’ leader and Torgin’s source of greater protection and strength.   
Menelaudh banked steeply in the air, directing herself back towards the MountainDrake, and Elrohir prepared himself correctly this time.   
Menelaudh looked over her shoulder in alarm when Elrohir catapulted from her back moments before her collision with the larger dragon, landing directly behind the tall young Avari.   
He swung his sword swiftly, but Garrik seemed more than aware of his position, ducking out of the way and turning slowly to glare at Elrohir as if he had trespassed on his own private property.  
The younger Elf’s glare did nothing but anger Elrohir further, and he lunged forward again, but Menelaudh careened into Torgin’s head, clamping her jaws down at the back of his skull, her icy blue eyes lividly predatorial. The impact threw Elrohir’s balance badly off kilter and he ended up nearly in the Avari’s arms, grasping his black tunic for balance.  
There was an empty blankness to Garrik’s focused gaze that unsettled Elrohir, but he didn’t particularly want to even so much as attempt to save the Elf’s captured mind.  
Torgin twisted upside-down in the air and Elrohir found himself kicking nothing but empty air with his feet, clutching Garrik’s tunic while the other Elf clutched the dragon’s scales, unable to detach the High-Elf from himself.  
From Garrik’s constrained look, Elrohir knew that his tunic was choking him, and he felt grim satisfaction as he reestablished his grip on his sword, drawing it back to end the Avari’s life cleanly.  
Garrik’s eye had glanced at him once, knowing what he was about to do, and before Elrohir could swing his blade, the Avari allowed one hand to fall from Torgin’s back, tearing his father’s, Garran’s, circlet from his forehead and throwing it violently down into the other Elf’s face.  
For a moment, his features were numb, and then Elrohir felt the warm rush of blood over his lips and realized he was staring at the circlet as it spun away in the air to be lost. He felt Garrik squirming desperately beneath him and then the Avari’s boots caught his shoulders, pushing him forcefully off of himself.  
Menelaudh caught Elrohir after several moments of falling through the air, giving him a moment to recuperate, and the young Prince found himself fearing Garrik’s cold, puppet-like actions more so than their frightening encounters in the air.  
Torgin twisted himself free from Khelekmin and continued on his course towards Gwemyr, Garrik casting a glare at Elrohir that chilled the other young Elf from even such a great distance.  
~~~  
Alinor hopped up the final edge of the Fire-Mountain’s steep side, feeling a sense of growing confidence as she watched Sauron glance over his shoulder, the massive mouth leading down into the Fire-Mountain gaping behind him as they hemmed him in neatly.   
The Maia turned carefully calculated amber eyes back to the She-Elf, Yaeran and Glorfindel, as the three Elves stood in a loose line, sizing the enemy before them, knowing that, as a viper, Sauron might serve most dangerous when cornered.  
“It will be hard to gather followers without a body, will it not? Those of broken minds need something visible to see to believe… To have obedience in fear,” Yaeran said evenly, holding his staff before him cautiously. Alinor noticed that the aged Lore-Master was extremely pale, but his eyes still shone with intense focus.  
“You will need more weak souls as Garrik to carry out your deeds in person,” Glorfindel agreed, a staff and a sword in each of his hands. He was, as well, slightly peaked, but not so much as Yaeran.  
“But does the power of a Maia truly need shape!?” Sauron asked surprisingly loudly, and Alinor expected there to be some attack of magic, but there was none.  
To her pleasure, she realized that his flesh-body must have received a sufficient enough battering that it was finally taking its toll on the fallen Maia.  
“I will not fall at the hands of the Firstborn!” Sauron shouted, as if to himself, and his voice held a shivering quality to it that hinted of desperation.   
“Let us finish this before he calls upon some trickery,” Glorfindel said quietly, extending his staff, “Quiet one, you—“   
The golden-haired warrior’s words were cut short when Sauron screamed, bending slightly at the knees and slowly pulling his arms upwards before him as if lifting some invisible boulder up by the roots, summoning a massive upsurge of power.  
The ground visibly quaked in a proceeding line, rattling stones and cracking the earth until it reached Glorfindel. The force of it knocked Yaeran and Alinor from their feet, sending painful reverberations through their bodies, but the drive of the most powerful assault thus far had been directed at Glorfindel, and Alinor watched in horror as the Elf was burst from the edge of the Fire-Mountain in a spray of dirt and stone, his body gone from sight almost instantly.  
Alinor didn’t know if the fall would kill him, as there were several plateaus on the way down, but she didn’t think on it long, watching the color drain from Sauron’s face from the effort, although he were performing the same movement of slowly dragging his arms upwards from the earth, burning amber eyes focused on Yaeran and Alinor.  
They had proved too formidable an enemy, Alinor supposed, and since Sauron’s source of power, Torgin, was flying away for some unknown reason that Alinor was certain was part of some greater plan, Sauron was expending all of his energy in a last effort to end his opponent’s once and for all.  
“Alinor--!” Yaeran’s demanding cry as she started sprinting towards the Maia drew no attention from her, the only thing she could think of was revenge and the need to break his concentration, if such a thing was even possible.  
She raised her sword, but Sauron flung out his arms in an explosion of inky blackness like a tidal wave curving over her head and preparing to crash down upon her.  
One of Yaeran’s arms wrapped about her waist, yanking her to a halt, and he flung out his other hand, creating a barrier that the black cloud literally flowed over.  
Alinor offered her own mental strength, although, compared to Yaeran’s trained power, it seemed so miniscule.  
The ebb of electrifying dark magic ended and Sauron leapt towards them with a raised sword, Alinor wrenching herself free from Yaeran’s grasp to meet the Maia’s blow and deflect her mother’s blade from their harm.  
“You will not interfere with my victory again, She-Elf!” Sauron shouted, flinging her away like a small, clinging animal, but Alinor scrambled back to her feet, assaulting the fallen Maia again while he parried magic with the Lore-Master.  
When Sauron had thrown Alinor back once more, he emitted a second powerful explosion of darkness so swiftly that Yaeran didn’t have time to counter.  
Alinor felt the air practically being sucked from her lungs, staring helplessly as a small, white light began growing in the endless black, pushing back Sauron’s darkness little by little.  
When she could make out Yaeran’s form, the elderly Elf was knocked to the ground, but he was in a position of rising on his knees, a hand raised as in deflection and being the source of the pure light.  
Alinor crawled forward an inch, it seemed, but it felt as though she had the weight of a dragon upon her back and no breath within her body. Stars began to dance in her vision but she dragged herself to her knees, desperately reaching towards Yaeran to offer what aid she could, but her untrained power could not penetrate the darkness in any way.  
Sauron stood at the center of the raging torrent, a dark figure with thin trickles of blood beginning to run from his ears and nose, face so white that Alinor thought she could see the blue veins beginning to strain beneath his skin.  
The bizarre thing that Alinor noticed was Yaeran’s calm expression throughout the astounding spectacle of light battling dark, the only feature indicating stress being his furrowed eyebrows.  
Alinor grit her teeth and strained towards them once more, but she felt her hair and clothes plastered flat against her skin, her vision blinded by a great explosion of white light which sent a blast of air out in a circle from the combatants.  
Everything was silent and black for what seemed to stretch on in an eternity.  
Her cheek was ground into the stony surface of the Fire-Mountain’s peak, and Alinor forced herself to focus on the small pebbles close to her face, convincing herself that she was yet alive.  
Slowly, she propped herself on her bloodied elbows and narrowed her gaze, staring through the clearing dirt and dust of the air.  
When she could finally make out the figures before her, she felt her stomach plummet in sickening grief and despair.  
Yaeran, the Elf that had taught and practically aided in raising her father, her uncle, even Oropher, her grandfather, lay limply on his side, fingers slightly curled. His face was surprisingly calm, as if relieved to be gone from the horrors of the battle.   
She wished to scream his name in agony, her inability to have helped him drowning her in guilt, but her throat was parched dry and she tasted blood, no sound coming out but a growled semblance of Maedhros’ son’s name.  
Sauron was kneeling, head bowed, eyes staring emptily at the ground as if exhausted, Faerlin’s sword held limply in his hand as dust settled silently around him.  
Alinor could feel her grief transforming itself into rage and she let it fester, unbridled now, until it tunneled her vision in red.  
Sauron turned slowly to look at her as she pulled herself to her knees, using her sword as a cane, pushing herself back to her feet.   
No words needed be spoken, for Alinor knew that her emotion was etched plainly in her face, and she lifted her blade with trembling arms.  
She was now alone, but she felt no fear in her consuming anger. If she had to die to avenge each life that the Necromancer had stolen, then so be it.  
It had to be done.  
~~~  
Eardaneth stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Earathran and Itryd, continuing the strong push of the corrupted Avari and Orcs up the Fire-Mountain’s slopes, swifter now with the help of the Men of Gwemyr.  
The sky-blue scarf about his son’s neck was stained in several places with crimson, but, for the most part, Earathran had proved himself quite a capable and fearsome warrior.  
With the dragons fleeing towards the city, it seemed, taking their battles further, the fight had gone surprisingly well in the favor of the Elves.  
Eardaneth blocked several blows from a rather large Orc that had singled him out when a deafening explosion of crossed witchcraft and magic erupted in white and black light at the Fire-Mountain’s summit.  
It was accompanied with a heart-rending agony that nearly brought Eardaneth to his knees, and he clutched his chest in pain, crying out in distress.   
He knew not how he was aware of his brother’s murder, perhaps it was the power of the Silmaril he had acquired upon holding and gazing upon the jewel in his youth, but he immediately felt his elder brother’s searing pain, feeling as though his heart exploded under the stress of the battle against the Maia in power. It felt like imploding.   
Alinor was alone now, Aldaraen’s daughter, his best friend’s granddaughter, with the Necromancer.  
With a desperate gasp, feeling helpless, Eardaneth felt himself battling grief and rage within his heart, while also trying to decide how to aid Oropher’s granddaughter atop the Fire-Mountain.  
His mind continued racing until he was back to the battle at Mirkwood where Oropher had died at the hands of witchcraft by the Elf, Garran, and Eardaneth knew he was becoming victim to a panic attack.  
He knew Aldariil had been taken to safety, terribly wounded. He did not know where either Thranduil, Legolas or Aldaraen were…but he could not let Alinor die at the whims of witchcraft, as his closest friend had so long ago.  
Not if Eardaneth SkyGaze, Son of Maedhros, could help it.  
Unsure of what he was doing, Eardaneth followed his instinct, feeling power beginning to practically burn at his fingertips, something he had never experienced before, and he allowed it to grow within him until he felt he would explode in radiant crystalline light.   
Earathran had turned and was staring at him with wide, sapphire eyes. His father’s gaze was lit as with a thousand stars and he stared upwards as if calling upon the authority of the Valar, and Earathran felt the very atmosphere about him tingling with the power of something that had not touched Arda in a very, very long time.  
It had never truly sunk in that Eardaneth’s father was Maedhros, son of Feanor, inheritor of the Silmarils, but now, seeing his father drawing upon the power of the fabled jewels in his desperation, it filled Earathran with awe.  
Sauron was about to be faced with a power long dormant, something of a curse to both the Elves and fallen Maia alike, and Earathran wondered if the Necromancer would be able to withstand his father in his fury.  
~~~  
Aldaraen could feel his heart hammering in his chest, could hear his blood roaring in his ears, could feel his body jerking in strange ways with each of Khelekmin’s powerful wing flaps.  
They were gaining on Torgin steadily and Aldaraen could see several gashes in the MountainDrake’s wings, small, frequent showers of red blood dotting the air occasionally, as well.  
The other dragon was wounded, but a wounded dragon was an even more dangerous dragon, Aldaraen was sure.  
Gwemyr was also beginning to take shape, what used to be nearly an hour ride horseback from their home now being several minutes Dragonback.  
Torgin would lay waste to the city to reclaim the Hatchlings, possibly the strongest potential allies of the Dark Lord.  
To his horror, Aldaraen watched as Garrik laid his hands across the dragon’s scales, moving his head back and forth as if chanting something, and several wounds began to visibly heal upon Torgin’s body.  
Garrik was only prolonging the situation and, as much as it sickened Aldaraen, he knew that the young Avari had to be done away with.  
Khelekmin angled himself upwards as they overtook Torgin until they were a distance away to the side and above.  
Aldaraen quickly nocked one of the glowing arrows to his bow and drew the shaft to his ear slowly, hearing every creak the string made, the creak of the wood, and his forced, deepening breaths to steady his arms.  
Khelekmin’s blind eye was towards Torgin and Garrik, unable to see anything, but he kept himself level to aid in Aldaraen’s invaluable shot.  
The strange rippling sound of leather that the wind made as it passed over Khelekmin’s still, gliding wings seemed to be the only thing Aldaraen remembered hearing as he released the arrow as if in slowed time.  
The glowing blue missile left the bow, flying in a piercing line through the way towards the unsuspecting Avari Elf, who was looking in the other direction towards Menelaudh.   
Torgin only had a moment to roar a warning before Garrik knew the danger, twisting himself violently and catching the large arrow smoothly from its course in his black glove, his calm, empty gaze betraying nothing as he stared back at Aldaraen.  
Aldaraen felt numb with shock at the younger Elf’s unearthly performance, so much so that even as he watched the Avari nock the arrow to his own bow and aim carefully through his fluttering black hair, he felt no alarm, and he felt as though his surroundings remained utterly silent.  
When Garrik released the arrow as if in a dangerous game of catch, Aldaraen realized in terror that the Avari had gone straight for Khelekmin’s eye.   
It was a moment too late that Aldaraen remembered that he had blinded the SnowDrake, barely having a moment to scream the dragon’s name…   
He watched as Khelekmin reared his head backwards and began to desperately claw at his face, his scream of pain deafening Aldaraen, and all he could do was scramble backwards upon the SnowDrake’s back instinctively, knowing what was to come next in the back of his mind.  
With a final thought being on his Elflings’ safety and wellbeing, he robotically flung the last remaining arrow spinning through the air towards Menelaudh and Elrohir, both of whom seemed frozen in a state of screaming.  
There was surprisingly little time to think clearly on any matter, and Aldaraen found himself in a raging black torrent of thoughts, his Elflings primary but with no true meaning.  
As Khelekmin twisted in the air, his great wing abruptly pressed down upon him and Aldaraen saw naught, but rather heard and felt the searing heat of the following explosion, silencing the SnowDrake’s roars and increasing the plummet at which they were descending.  
Aldaraen could do nothing but grasp at the dragon’s limp wing, desperately holding onto it.  
Against all circumstances, knowing that he SHOULD be afraid, Aldaraen smiled to himself and clung to the dragon’s wing, pressing his forehead against it, grateful that he had been given the opportunity to find peace with the beast he had been strangely bonded to, and released his fate to the Valar.  
~~~  
Elrohir began to scream Aldaraen’s name uselessly before he was immediately drowned out by Menelaudh’s agonized roar. He had no idea that a dragon could sound so broken.  
Torgin had veered away from the impending explosion, but Menelaudh was flying forward, to Elrohir’s great confusion and horror.  
It wasn’t until the first of the flames began to blossom in front of them that Elrohir focused on the glowing blue arrow hurtling towards him.   
The boom from the explosion was deafening and the shockwave of it disrupted Menelaudh’s flight, pushing her backwards.   
Elrohir yelled furiously to himself, knowing that if he did not act, then they would lose their last remaining hope at combatting Torgin. He leapt to his feet awkwardly and clambered up Menelaudh’s neck, vaulting off of her head and stretching for the spinning arrow.  
He barely grasped it in his fingertips, fumbling with it briefly before grasping it more securely, and he felt Menelaudh’s claw close about him as she back-flapped away from the searing heat of the explosion.  
Risking only a quick glance, Elrohir saw Khelekmin’s pale body, purposefully not focusing on the scene, spiraling far below them, already nearly to the Fire-Mountain.  
He felt sick in the stomach, and he felt his body vibrate when Menelaudh made a high-pitched, whining sort of rumble deep in her throat before throwing herself in pursuit of Torgin, narrowing her icy blue eyes.  
Elrohir was sure that if dragons could cry, then there would’ve been tears in the FireDrake’s emotionally shining gaze, and, feeling strange, he averted his eyes to Torgin’s shape flying before them.  
~~~  
Thranduil struggled away from Radagast, who was leading him towards the safety of the trees. He stared up with a falling heart as a plumage of fire billowed high above in the sky and a glistening white body, which could only belong to Khelekmin, descended in a free-fall from the black smoke.  
He felt numb, surprised as the emotionally-protecting thought of his brother being invincible came crashing down about him. Why had he thought that his brother wouldn’t get hurt…? Perhaps because he had already lost enough? His wife and unborn child? Surely the Valar were not this cruel.  
His thoughts were running desperately.  
He was quite certain that Aldaraen had been upon Khelekmin’s back, and, with a stifled cry, he left Radagast to sprint back towards the Fire-Mountain, judging where Khelekmin’s body would fall.  
He refused to think that Aldaraen was dead. Refused it.   
His younger brother would surely pull one of his usual stunts and defy death.  
Thranduil grit his teeth and forced his legs to move faster, stumbling through the muddy battlefield.  
~~~  
Menelaudh stretched her claws forward in an almost comical way, grasping onto Torgin’s tail and pulling herself forward.  
Elrohir knew that the young dragon was exhausted, and he focused a small part of his magic-concentration on offering her power, gathering the strength of the air of Arda about him until he could feel his attack buzzing at his fingertips.  
He directed the crackling stream of energy towards Garrik, who parried it.   
Elrohir could tell that Garrik was very occupied with offering help to his own dragon mount, who was badly injured, so he was pressed to make his own attacks on Elrohir.  
Torgin turned swiftly and snapped at Menelaudh, who was getting dangerously close to his haunches, but when Garrik turned around with a normal arrow nocked to his bow, aiming at Menelaudh’s eye, the small black dragon immediately spread her wings and maneuvered herself away.  
“We need to kill Garrik--!” Elrohir began to yell, but Menelaudh was already releasing a steady stream of orange fire.  
It seemed to envelop Garrik momentarily, but a small protecting bubble suddenly appeared about him, the Avari’s hand raised above his head protectively.  
As if Menelaudh’s unexpected attack had drawn Garrik’s attention entirely, Torgin suddenly fell several meters in the air as if unable to support himself, and Garrik grasped the MountainDrake’s back urgently.  
Menelaudh’s stream of fire ended momentarily before she soared closer and bit down very hard at the base of one of the much larger dragon’s wings.  
Elrohir’s heart was in his throat, feeling as though Menelaudh had forgotten that he was upon her back, until he realized that that was the entire focus of what Aldariil had tried to explain to him several days before. Menelaudh wasn’t a steed, but a friend, so sometimes you had to flow with her own movements instead of she obeying commands.  
Garrik was concealed behind the wing that was twisted up at an odd angle from Menelaudh’s clasp, and Elrohir drew his sword, preparing to leap onto Torgin’s back and face the Avari in that manner.  
When he found his balance on his toes, Menelaudh suddenly wrenched herself violently in the air, moving Torgin’s massive bulk only slightly, but just enough to reveal Garrik, eyes closed, hands on the MountainDrake’s back, murmuring strengthening spells.  
Elrohir barely managed to remain on the FireDrake’s back, but he immediately drew power from any available source and sent an attack to the preoccupied Avari within a heartbeat, feeling his own strength drain with the effort, and he slumped forward upon Menelaudh’s back.  
It was almost as if watching a great punch of air hit the other Elf, for Garrik was knocked cleanly from Torgin’s back and sent plummeting towards the ground.  
Elrohir felt a strange surge of disbelief, clinging to the dragon’s back and staring down as Garrik’s form grew smaller and smaller.  
Menelaudh made a sad moaning noise that touched Elrohir oddly as she protected him from a fiery blast from Torgin, moving backwards in preparation for a backlash from the larger dragon.  
Hopefully, downing the MountainDrake would prove to be a simpler task now that Garrik was slain, and Elrohir turned his thoughts to gathering his power once more.  
~~~  
Garrik was practically slaying himself as he expended almost every last ounce of his own power and being in manipulating the wind about him, attempting to slow his fall.  
He screamed, feeling as if his ligaments and tendons were tearing in half in his strain, but his sound of desperate agony was drowned away by the speed of his plummet.  
It had felt as if, when the other young Elf’s powerful blow of magic had punched him akin to an air concussion, that he had been partially separated by a mighty fist that clutched him tightly.   
Slowly, ever so slowly, Garrik felt his body grow limp, falling backwards through the sky, knowing that the ground was rushing to meet him, and he closed his eyes, wondering, for the first time in a long time, what had happened since he had entered Mirkwood with Alinor’s family.  
~~~  
Raebidus had shouted every curse he could possibly conjure in the languages of Men and Elves as he raced towards the place he was sure Garrik would take his landing.  
The Avari seemed to experience several moments of slower descent before rushing back into full speed, then slowing again, the air about him rushing away like white waves.  
Garrik was well-versed in magic, Raebidus realized, but he didn’t allow himself much time to ogle.  
With a roar of effort, Raebidus threw himself to his knees and flung his arms out, drawing from every lesson that the Istari had taught him and pulling the very power of the earth below him into his spell. He imagined it wrapping about Garrik, slowing his fall. The rushing air was deafening, almost flattening Raebidus in his effort, but he could see through his tearing and narrowed eyes that Garrik was indeed slowing, if only slightly.  
To the red-haired Man’s relief, his brother’s path was directing him to the river, which was swirling in the madness of the directional, manipulated wind.  
Raebidus was vaguely aware of the armies battling up the Fire-Mountain’s slope behind him, but his spell ended, knowing that he would lose consciousness if he continued the duration. He allowed himself to rest on all fours, watching Garrik’s pale body splash into the river just before the cavern’s entrance where Menelaudh had been raised.  
Raebidus hoped that his spell had been great enough to cause his brother’s impact with the water to be non-injuring, and he knew he would drown or go over the waterfall’s edge if he were left long in the water, so he forced the stars from his vision as best as he might and stumbled towards the water.  
His hands were shaking, but Raebidus slowly drew power from the earth, not too swiftly, however.  
The man splashed hurriedly into the water and grasped Garrik’s tunic, seeing streams of scarlet blood waft down the river. His brother’s hand still clutched the sword Aldaraen had crafted for him, but Raebidus pulled it forcefully from his stiff fingers and shoved it in his belt, sickened at the evil that the blade had wrought.  
“You bloody idiot, always acting foolish and for what?” Raebidus found himself muttering, glaring down at his brother’s slack, gaunt face, realizing that he was speaking hatefully to will away the great agony he felt building in his heart. He knew that Garrik, once possessed by the Necromancer, had no choice in his actions.  
Up close, Raebidus could see the dark circles and bruises covering Garrik’s milky skin, but his freckles still remained as obvious as ever.  
Groaning to himself, Raebidus struggled up the bank and out of the water, situating his hands under his brother’s armpits and dragging him with difficulty.  
“Why did you get so tall?” Raebidus grumbled, and almost felt the urge to kick the Avari, “Do you realize all of this mess is partially your fault?”   
He knew it wasn’t.  
“This is where you drug Alinor out of the river all those years ago, StarGazer. Do you remember that? I wish you would open your eyes.”  
Taking a moment’s pause, Raebidus glanced down the Fire-Mountain.   
At the rate that the Elves were pushing back the corrupted Avari and Orcs, Raebidus figured that he had less than, possibly, 20 minutes to act.  
He didn’t know how he was managing to think of all of this. He felt utterly dead inside.  
Raebidus drug Garrik towards the Fire-Mountain numbly and dropped him there, quite a long way from the cavern entrance, before falling on his knees beside him and looking hard at his pale face.  
“Wake up, Garrik. Wake up, you fool,” he slapped the Elf several times in the face before situating his hands over his brother’s stomach and heaving against it several times.  
When Garrik began to cough and splutter, water streaming from the corners of his mouth, Raebidus felt his muscles finally relax slightly, sitting the Avari upright so he could spit out the water easier.   
“Good lad,” he muttered to him, then pressed his hand over his brother’s heart and began reciting words that Saruman had taught him to cast out a possession over the heart, calling upon the power of the Valar.  
Garrik bared his teeth in an odd way, but Raebidus ignored him, even when the Elf grasped both sides of his collar weakly.  
“I swear if you hurt me while I’m trying to help you, then I will murder your bloody arse myself,” Raebidus growled in irritation, suddenly feeling very old. He was getting paranoid, imagining that the raging noises of the approaching armies were getting louder, although they hadn’t moved from their line.  
He restrained Garrik as best as he might, saying strongly, “Aman Seldarine, Aman valar, faina sina nessa edhel tuulo' i' huine man kwara ho.”  
An inky blackness seeped from Garrik’s chest and Raebidus felt grim satisfaction, although he knew it pained young Elf.  
“NO!” Garrik shouted abruptly, and he grasped the hilt of his sword from Raebidus’ belt, reclaiming it as he threw himself backwards and tore out of the man’s grasp.  
Raebidus felt burning shock, not having handled his brother in this state before, but he stood defensively, drawing his own weapon and staring at Garrik calculatingly.  
Garrik stood on trembling legs before him, the blackness still fogging about his chest in an eerie way as he stared hatefully at the red-haired Man he had known as his brother.   
Raebidus felt a lump building in his throat, gazing at the broken Elf before him.  
Without his father’s circlet, Garrik looked just as he always had, except for an aura of hunger and corruption.   
The black fog intensified as if some evilness proceeded out of the Avari’s body, Raebidus’ spell still slowly doing its work, and Garrik doubled over, clutching at his chest and yelling in pain.  
When his brother stood once more, an electrified haze began forming in his palms, but Raebidus prepared himself immediately, saying evenly, “Don’t even try, Garrik. I know you through and through, and you are too weak to sustain any more expenditure.”  
Garrik seemed deaf, and for a moment, Raebidus wondered if he could even hear him, for both of his pointed ears had been cut badly and were bleeding.  
As swiftly as a viper, Garrik launched his attack of magic and took a stumbling step forward, brandishing his sword, but Raebidus, ignoring his own light-headedness, deflected the assault, turning it on its creator.   
When it struck Garrik, the Elf cried out again and fell.  
He was moaning as he struggled to rise to his elbows, but Raebidus noticed that his pupils seemed less dilated, his brother’s expression pitifully confused.  
“Garrik…” he said carefully, and he watched as his brother’s misty gaze slid up to him, seeing the sword in the Man’s hand, before looking to his side at his own blade.  
“Garrik!” Raebidus took a step forward more commandingly, but his brother’s eyes became fully dilated once more as the Avari snatched up his blade, struggling to his feet with a snarl.  
Raebidus was surprised at the swiftness of Garrik’s advance, barely managing to catch his shockingly strong sword stroke.  
“You were always one of them!” Garrik shouted, and Raebidus felt a stifling pain in his heart, but he did not speak, simply mentally strengthening the cleansing spell he had placed upon Garrik’s heart.  
His brother dropped his sword with a loud ‘clang’ that hurt Raebidus’ ears as the Elf doubled over again with a cry, but before he could act, Garrik snatched the blade from the ground once more and began a second attack.  
They traded several swift blows, Raebidus focusing very hard on the practice rounds they had battled in the past, watching Garrik carefully to determine his movements…except this time it was lethal.  
Suddenly, Raebidus felt his sword leave his hands and he stood in shocked silence before the tall Elf, hearing the blade splash into the river at his side.   
Raebidus drew his dagger, his last weapon, just as Garrik moved forward again, and did his best at defense, feeling his fingers and knuckles sliced several times.  
Garrik cried out again, doubling over, and Raebidus dashed forward, slicing his brother’s side deeply, not enough to kill and feeling the need to vomit when he did so, but it made the Avari drop his sword and stumble back.   
With a strong kick, Raebidus knocked him to his back once more and the man threw himself atop of him, restraining the Elf and holding him in place but for his thrashing head.  
“KELA HO, MORI HERU!” Raebidus screamed powerfully, and felt himself go momentarily limp in the surge of power and strength that left his body.  
Garrik jerked violently once, then was still, and it was then that Raebidus realized he might’ve made a dreadful mistake.  
What if Sauron’s witchcraft and possession was the only thing keeping Garrik alive? Hadn’t it been that way for Garran, Garrik’s father, as well?  
Beneath his fingers, firmly restraining Garrik’s head to the ground, Raebidus could feel the Avari’s pulse, so he knew that he was not dead, perhaps just in shock.  
Raebidus continued to slowly strengthen his spell, feeling pain building within him, already having dipped into his own resources which he needed to even function correctly, to live, in order to attempt the rescue of his brother.  
He knew that the Garrik that had been upon the battlefield was not his younger brother in the slightest, but the product of Sauron’s corruption.  
“You will not take me from him,” Garrik’s voice rasped, although the Elf’s eyes were rolled upwards as if he were choking, “Do not steal my revenge!”  
“KELA HO, MORI HERU!” Raebidus shouted again, and released an attack so strong that the very pebbles littering the rocky floor about them vibrated.  
Garrik’s head rolled to the side, then, his eyes closing and his muscles relaxing.  
Raebidus felt a numb sense of victory, but for the most part, he felt strangely apathetic, and removed himself from Garrik’s body, collapsing on his knees next to him. For a strange moment, he remembered how old he was…yes, he was far too old for this business.   
With a sigh, he looked at his brother’s pale features before turning his limp head gently with his hand.   
The effects of the Avari’s wounds finally seemed to be taking their toll without the embrace of the Necromancer’s witchcraft, and a steady trickle of scarlet blood ran from the corner of Garrik’s mouth, his nose and ears. His black tunic glistened in the weak light from multiple wounds inflicted that now began to bleed forth, and Raebidus felt himself close to tears, seeing the young Elf that had been so mortified of violence, in such a state.  
Garrik’s black eyes opened slightly to look at him dully, and Raebidus felt a brotherly stab of grief at the brokenness and anguish that shined there, no trace of the fallen Maia’s possession remaining.   
Tears began to slide down Garrik’s face as he stammered incoherently, but Raebidus stopped him, holding his cheek gently and feeling his own tears welling in his eyes as he whispered, voice cracking,  
“You know… that she did not hurt you purposefully, Garrik.”  
Garrik’s nod was so minute that Raebidus almost did not see it, but even as he spoke the words, he understood why his brother had fallen so easily to corruption in his state of fear and broken-heartedness.  
“They loved you as a son, and as a brother,” Raebidus said, and Garrik’s crying became more powerful, the Elf whispering,  
“Yes… it hurt so much.”   
“I know. And we left you in the hands of another who was blinded by pain, and I am so…SO sorry,” Raebidus swallowed the lump in his throat, wishing to speak clearer.  
“I’m sorry for my part in everything, my brother,” Garrik whispered, then closed his eyes, letting his head rest heavier in Raebidus’ hand, finishing, “I’m sorry for always running away.”  
“Garrik… Garrik!” Raebidus withdrew his hands in alarm, sensing in the very atmosphere about him that the freed Elf was dying, and he felt his tears finally stream down his cheeks, crying, “Garrik, you… you will be forgiven! They will understand… You—You can’t die! Garrik, you cannot give up! There is so much to live for, you have missed so much and…and… it’s OUR FAULT!”   
Garrik didn’t open his eyes, only smiling gently into Raebidus’ hand, the Man he had known as an elder brother, murmuring, “Amin mela lle, Raebidus,” and blood flowed swifter from his slightly parted lips.  
“No…” Raebidus felt his breath quicken in his chest, making his vision blurry, and he frantically gathered his brother into his arms, reciting healing words with a swift veracity, tumbling over them in his haste, but they were useless.  
In a moment of calmness, lying Garrik back onto the ground gently, Raebidus clutched one of the Elf’s cold hands and realized that the only thing that would heal his brother of his wounds, external and internal, would be to use the very power of his own living sustenance.   
Hadn’t Thranduil begun to do precisely that in an attempt to aid his fallen wife, Wharyn? But Yaeran had stopped him, knowing Wharyn was too far gone for Thranduil’s power to aid without the young King of Mirkwood dying from his sacrifice.   
“My hair is whiter…you have so much live for, my precious brother…and much more time to do so,” Raebidus whispered, and with that, he grasped either side of Garrik’s lolling head and began speaking healing words of love and life.  
The air was practically alive and shimmering with magic, but Raebidus smiled, even as he felt himself slipping away, watching as wounds healed and the Elf’s cheeks, lips and nose grew a touch of red, just as it had when his brother had blushed in the past, as he had done so often and easily.   
The fixed trickle of blood from Garrik’s mouth and nose ceased, and Raebidus heard his brother take a steady draw of breath, his lips opening, but his face remained slack.  
As his world grew murkier and began to fade, Raebidus experienced several, unfrightening visions of Sauron grasping desperately for his brother, who was cowering in terror. He wasn’t sure if they were real, induced by the final witchcraft and corruption being sucked from Garrik’s body, but with a last string of sing-song words, Raebidus saw the image of the Necromancer shatter into a million pieces, entirely absent from their presence.   
“Aman valar, creosa amin yassen tiri ar' maksa giliath …Blessed Valar, receive me with open and merciful arms!” Raebidus cried.  
And with that, the Elf-Brother collapsed lifelessly beside the Avari, leaving Garrik breathing gently through dry lips, unconscious on the cold, stony ground.  
~~~


	27. Kin ~ Chapter 26

Menelaudh was straining with each flap to pass Torgin, her slender black neck stretched forward and wings beating the air powerfully.  
Elrohir was uncomfortable at passing the much larger dragon, although he knew it was the only way to get a good shot with Aldaraen’s last glowing arrow, a final resort against the MountainDrake.  
“Get past him swiftly,” he willed the dragoness in his mind, nervously, habitually tapping his heels against her sides like some sort of horse.  
She slowly moved past Torgin’s head, who slid an eye in their direction, holding nothing but cold, empty malice and animalistic hate.  
Elrohir gritted his teeth, expecting Torgin to at least attempt to incinerate him, but the larger dragon seemed to calmly let them pass.  
“Menelaudh…” Elrohir began, knowing full well that she could not hear his normal speaking voice above the wind, and he ended up screaming in fright when Torgin suddenly lunged forward and grasped the end of the FireDrake’s tail.   
With a violent yank, Torgin twisted his head back, taking Menelaudh with him, and Elrohir felt himself flip over her neck. He grasped frantically at anything as he rushed through the air, deafened by the roars of the dragons.   
By the grace of the Valar, Elrohir felt his hands close over a spike near the crest of Menelaudh’s skull, sliding over her scales until he was dangling beside one of her wide blue eyes.  
He cursed in a horrified voice, not having heard his voice in such a pitch since he was a very young Elfling.  
With another twist, Torgin whipped Menelaudh around, snapping her head hard enough to dislodge Elrohir and send him spinning away in the air, but the Elf had brief flashes of Menelaudh’s massive jaws open, filled with glistening teeth, stretching towards him until his world suddenly went black.   
It was a disturbing and alarming revelation to realize that he was inside of Menelaudh’s mouth, being caressed by her tongue in the pitch black. What if she instinctively swallowed…  
“MENELAUDH!” Elrohir couldn’t help screaming, his voice cracking in horror as he slammed his hands against the roof of her mouth and pushed upwards with all his strength, knowing that it was useless. He was too frightened of what he would see if he used magic for even a moment of light.  
In a euphoric way, Elrohir could hear the scraping and clawing of the battle going on outside of Menelaudh’s…mouth.   
Torgin sounded very close now, and there was a sudden loud thump that reverberated Menelaudh’s skull, and Elrohir was blinded with light as he was forcefully ejected from his enclosure.  
It only took a moment for him to adjust to the brilliant light before he saw Torgin’s gaping mouth occupying most of his view.   
Within moments of being free from Menelaudh’s mouth, Elrohir found himself in the suffocating blackness of Torgin’s maw. He wondered if the dragon even knew that he was there… Of course, he did.  
Panic drove Elrohir’s thoughts in useless directions when he flung his arms out, but he felt nothing, as he had in Menelaudh’s mouth.   
In a fit of desperation, unknowing and blind to what he was doing, unable to think on reason, Elrohir took the bow slung over his shoulder and withdrew the glowing arrow from his tunic, the true horror of his situation settling upon him as the dim blue light lit his surroundings.  
“Die, atara-jekette,” Elrohir hissed under his breath, feeling a large gob of saliva dripping down the side of his face, and fired the arrow blindly into the dark recesses of the dragon’s massive mouth.  
There was a deafening roar… or at least, Elrohir assumed it was a roar, and, having entered Torgin’s mouth for less than 8 seconds, Elrohir was flung back out into the brilliant sunshine. He had a moment to see Menelaudh’s expression, which was surprisingly horrified, surprised, and focused simultaneously, before a massive black claw stretched towards him and caught him in the air.  
Elrohir knew it was Menelaudh, and, still unable to hear himself, coated in saliva and thoroughly peeved, he screamed at the FireDrake to flee. He was staring down at a city, suspended over Gwemyr, and felt a sense of triumph that they had succeeded just in time.  
With an abrupt start, Elrohir realized that he had heard no explosion yet, and he twisted in Menelaudh’s grip, but was too late, hearing a large, yet muffled detonation.   
Menelaudh slowed in her retreat, turning in the air and allowing Elrohir to watch with her as Torgin’s writhing body plummeted towards Gwemyr.   
There were no words between them, no sense of victory, just a numb observance.  
Elrohir hoped that there was no one in Gwemyr’s Square, then he let out a quiet, suppressed whimper, and rested his forehead on Menelaudh’s leg as his adrenalin fled him.   
~~~  
A woman of Gwemyr dragged her young son by the hand towards the wall of their home, throwing themselves against the stone just as the massive dragon, which had started off as a small shadow over the Square, finally crashed down in the center of the city.  
One of the monster’s wings fell limply, uncomfortably close, to the mother and child, with a loud crash, sending dust swirling in the air.  
Frozen and petrified in fear, the woman loosened her vice-like grip on her son’s arm, allowing him to stretch forward and tap experimentally on the dragon’s wing with a broad and fascinated grin.  
The lifeless dragon’s wing shifted almost unnoticeably.   
With a curse and a shouted reprimand, the woman yanked her child back to her side and dashed inside their home, locking the door behind them.  
As if it would serve any purpose.  
~~~  
The two enormous attacks of magic and witchcraft, the earth-trembling assault that had knocked Glorfindel over the side of the Fire-Mountain and the attack that had slain Yaeran, had caused the very stone beneath Alinor’s boots to begin to crack, several slabs of the Fire-Mountain already having fallen from the edges of the summit.  
She knew that the mouth of the Fire-Mountain she had fallen through many, many years ago was probably the most unstable, the sounds of massive stones and rock still audible as the earth fell away deep in its recesses.  
The earth trembled beneath her again, but Alinor never removed her gaze from Sauron’s, staring at him angrily and gripping her sword so tightly that her hands were numb. She preferred staring at him than at Yaeran’s motionless body at his feet, anyway.  
“You cannot win against my power,” Sauron hissed, standing defensively with legs apart, his black clothes and golden hair moving in the wind about them.  
“What power?” Alinor replied evenly, “Where is your pet, Garrik? Your dragon is gone to fetch the young you would corrupt and torture. Your own selfishness has caused your weakness. You are naught but a broken spirit trapped in the body of an Elf. Where…is...your…power?”   
She began walking forward slowly, her mind thinking naught but of the Necromancer’s end, but she was aware of Sauron’s strange and considered calmness, watching her approach with bright amber eyes. Sometimes it seemed as if they glowed in the settling dust about them.  
He lifted her mother’s blade just as she charged forward, and their weapons met with a deafening, yet surprisingly pure ‘clang’.  
They exchanged several blows, Alinor’s fury filling her with adrenalin until she was blindly assaulting the source of her pain and torment, her movements growing swifter and far more violent.  
It wasn’t until she felt Sauron’s sword slice painfully along her cheek that she stopped with a scream of anger, falling back a few safe paces. She was shocked to see that she had backed Sauron nearly to the mouth of the Fire-Mountain’s edge.   
The Maia glanced behind him before looking back at the She-Elf, his gaze accusing, calculated, as if only toying with her.  
“You… will not… win!” Alinor screamed breathlessly, hoarsely, and leapt forward, but Sauron only watched her with wide eyes, never moving himself.   
Before she could swing her sword forward to deliver a blow to the Maia, she was abruptly clutched by an invisible hand, holding her suspended slightly over the ground.   
All she could do was stare hatefully at the Maia with watering eyes.   
“You will not defeat me with witchcraft. Battle me as a man!” she shouted, although her desperation was clear in her strained voice.  
“Things do not have to be this way, my love,” Sauron’s honey-coated voice smoothed across her mind, “I am a generous Maia.”   
Alinor glared down at him and felt herself drowning in his burning amber eyes when Sauron smiled at her slowly.  
“I am a generous…forgiving Maia… unlike the Valar. I know, deep in your heart, that you desire the power as Keeper of the Ring. Just think of what you could accomplish… See through your emotions. They blind your common sense.”  
Alinor felt tears of fury rolling down her cheeks, but she couldn’t take her eyes from Sauron’s hand as he slowly extended it to her, the beautiful, beckoning Ring resting in the palm of his hand.  
She knew that she could destroy him with the power of the Ring…  
“You are not truly angry… I know that you are scared, SkyDancer. You are scared, and you are so… so sad. You’ve lost your mother, father, friends…even more family. Your heart is as broken as Garrik’s… which makes it that much more vulnerable.”  
“Unlike Garrik, I have Elrohir,” Alinor growled, but she sounded far more confident than she felt.  
“Do you truly believe that he loves you for who you are? You are ruined, corrupted, and dark of heart. If you believe that Elf desires you for your “wonderful” personality, then you think far too highly of yourself. He certainly cannot save you now,” Sauron smiled as if humored.  
“You know…nothing,” Alinor hissed, but she felt her tears quicken. The Maia had a wonderful way of stabbing at secret fears.  
“You will burn so bright away from here…” Sauron continued to smile welcomingly at her, and Alinor felt her hand reaching slowly, mechanically, for the Ring, “You will be powerful in beauty and grace. You will find yourself.”  
She realized, in the recesses of her conscious, that she was standing once more on the stony ground.  
The Ring felt strangely warm as her fingers curled about it, taking it into her hand, and she felt power slowly beginning to seep back into her body in waves, making things about her seem sharper, more focused.  
She saw several flashes of Elves having their power drawn forth from their bodies in agony to strengthen the Ring, none of which Alinor recognized for their face except for Celebrian. She saw memories slide before her vision of her capture and torture in Angmar…but she ignored them.  
The Ring had been crafted in such evil…but what if she could bend it to do away with its Creator and become its Master instead?   
The idea would’ve seemed ludicrous at any other time.  
She stared down at the Ring resting in her hand and heard Sauron’s smooth, conceited voice in the distance say, slowly, “You…lose.”  
~~~  
Oropher had been his closest friend.  
He would not see another of Oropher’s House slain by witchcraft.   
Eardaneth continued to drag power from the earth, delving deep into the powers he had garnered from the Silmaril he had held hundreds of years ago, remembering the feelings he had experienced when he had held it as an innocent Elfling.  
Small rocks were trembling about him.  
There had been several shape-shifting Elves that had used their power to deceive the naked eye and human senses.   
Eardaneth knew that Alinor was alone upon the Fire-Mountain with the Necromancer… he needed to reach the summit quickly…he needed wings…  
Rage at his brother’s death was clouding his judgement.  
“A'mael Arda. Ona amin val natul- y' sgiathatch. Poika nim,” Eardaneth murmured to himself, feeling his anger overflowing into his spell, and a brilliant white light seemed to begin beaconing from his very skin. He threw his arms out wide and finished loudly, “Ona amin val natul- y' sgiathatch!”  
There was the strange sensation of being torn apart before Eardaneth realized he was spreading massive, scaly, auburn wings. It was a euphoric sensation.  
Turning a full circle and feeling his new tail knocking down several trees in the process, Eardaneth glared crystalline, furiously focused eyes to the summit of the mountain, before loosing a deafening roar and taking to the air.  
Enough was enough.  
~~~  
Earathran was grateful for Itryd’s protection, standing at his back, for he could only stare agape, utterly in shock, as his father transformed into a massive dragon before his very eyes, reptilian gaze the hue of the Silmarils. He began to fly towards the Fire-Mountain, passing close over their heads.  
He had seen his father angry before…but never was he serious when he jokingly said that his father had the temper of a dragon.  
~~~  
What had they died for?   
Faerlin, Wharyn, Yaeran, Volrion, Lanneli, and countless others, most of which Alinor did not yet know their fate after today.   
Silence seemed to stretch on into eternity, the Ring heavy in her hand, poised, held between two fingers for her to place next to the ring binding her to Elrohir’s heart.  
She thought, then, of her husband’s pure love for her…How much he believed in her…How much her family trusted her…  
There was no victory in anger. There was no victory in hate.  
Alinor felt a last tear slide down her cheek before running dry, and she found herself staring down at the sword she had dropped at her boots upon receiving the Ring.  
How much time had passed since she had been cast under some lustful spell?  
The ground trembled beneath her feet.  
Her gaze slid to the blade Sauron held unthreateningly at his side.  
“The finest of blades, worthy to serve only the fairest of maids, both in hand, and in land,” she realized she read the words her father had inscribed upon her mother’s sword aloud, and she briefly closed her eyes, bathing in the sudden memory of her parents, beckoning to her lovingly to enter their old home near Gwemyr.  
“What did you say?” Sauron hissed, leaning closer to her, but Alinor raised her burning emerald gaze to him, saying,  
“You cannot tempt me with power. My parents taught me far better than that when they left Mirkwood…long ago. You chose…the wrong…She-Elf.”  
Sauron was looking at her in blank surprise.  
“There is no Elf harder to change of mind, no Elf of greater temper, than a Mirkwood Elf,” Alinor spat, feeling a small hint of pride seeping back into her heart, healing the wounds that Sauron’s evil words had wrought.  
“You will—“ Sauron began to say, but Alinor interrupted him, crying,  
“THIS…will never be mine!”   
With the abruptness of a viper, Alinor threw the Ring at the Maia, watching him fumble with it in surprise. Their next interactions lasted but a few, split moments, but seemed to move nauseatingly slowly.  
In the moment of his surprisingly human reaction, Alinor kicked one foot out from beneath the fleshed Maia and grasped his arm. Their faces were nearly touching as she hissed, “I am not your slave… I own nothing of yours…”   
With another swift movement, she unsheathed her mother’s sword from his belt in a maneuver Eardaneth had taught her time and time again, finishing, “But you have something of mine.”  
The ground shook violently beneath her feet and she kicked Sauron in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards towards the gaping mouth of the Fire-Mountain.  
“You will not escape!” Alinor shouted, but she felt a spell wrapping about her mind, making the corners of her vision blur and mind-splitting pain began to wrack her head.   
In a blind effort to not allow the Necromancer to win, Alinor flung herself forward, driving her body into the Maia’s, feeling him give way as he lost his balance, and he suddenly was gone for a breath of time, slipping over the side of the Fire-Mountain.  
His grip fully disappeared from her mother’s blade, and she clutched the familiar sword tightly in her hand as she whirled her arms, desperately trying to keep her balance.  
A hand grasped her ankle and she felt her back slam painfully into the trembling stone before sliding down with frightening speed into the Fire-Mountain’s mouth, hitting her aching head, as well.  
There was a terrifying second of falling down into the dusty, black depths, but Alinor reacted swifter this time, striking the stone with her mother’s sword so hard that sparks burned for a moment until the blade jammed in some small recess, halting her fall, but holding her own weight in such a precarious situation made Alinor’s entire body scream in protest.  
She risked a glance below her in time to see Sauron land painfully hard on a jutting ledge of shifted stone several meters below her.  
When the fallen Maia glared up at her, there was a trickle of blood running from his nose and down his lips and chin, the hate and fury glowing in his gaze giving him an animalistic look.  
Alinor felt cold fear creep into her limbs as the Maia began to seek places to climb up the Fire-Mountain’s wall, and she turned her attention to her own predicament.  
She experimentally reached an arm upwards to grasp at a protruding stone as the earth trembled again, sending fresh dust into the air, but her movement and shifting of her weight caused the jammed sword to shift. She screamed in alarm and tightened her grip on the hilt, feeling her palms growing sweaty in fear, but she stared up in shock when she heard a familiar voice shout,  
“Alinor…! Do NOT…move, Mellon! Stay right where you are!”  
“Gandalf?!” she exclaimed, struggling to see his silhouette against the sky through the swirling dust.   
“Yes, don’t move!” he shouted back, and Alinor could see the Wizard slowly pulling back a glowing blue arrow to his ear, blowing blonde wisps of hair from his face as he finished thoughtfully, “You should’ve never taken the lass’s sword, Sauron!”  
“Gandalf the Grey? The wandering bum of Middle-Earth?” Sauron’s sneering tone echoed up from below her, but Alinor could hear some form of tension in his voice, “And what sort of good do you think you can work? Are you going to blind us all with a firework?”  
Gandalf was silent for several seconds, but when he spoke, his words were so unexpected that Alinor couldn’t help smirking to herself, the young Wizard shouting, “Blonde hair never suited you, you know!”  
Sauron made no reply, only growling to himself and resuming his hunt for a way of ascension.   
There was the sound of hissing air and Alinor felt the glowing arrow fire past her motionless body more-so than she saw it.   
Sauron’s scream of pain made her risk her own fall, twisting until she could look down at the corrupted Maia below.   
The glowing blue shaft was moving strangely in the murky light and Alinor realized with a guffaw of shock that Gandalf had stuck the arrow in the Necromancer’s arse.   
In a swift movement, however, Sauron yanked the arrow free and glared up in blind rage at the Istari above.   
Alinor turned her wide eyes to Gandalf, who got the same thought as the She-Elf immediately.  
How was she supposed to climb out?  
He hadn’t thought THAT far ahead.  
Sauron pulled his arm back as if to throw the arrow back to the Wizard.  
“Waara ata—“ Gandalf began, but the remainder of his curse was drowned out by the deafening explosion that rocked the Fire-Mountain’s insides before the Maia could throw at his target.  
Boulders began to crash down from everywhere, it seemed, and Gandalf reached his hand towards her somewhat uselessly, shouting inaudible words.  
Alinor stared down below her churning feet but Sauron was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t even realize their victory in her blind fear. She felt her heart leap sickeningly into her throat as the sword she clutched moved and finally came free from its hold, sending her plummeting into the Fire-Mountain’s depths, just as she had in her youth.  
Gandalf’s silhouette grew smaller and smaller.  
She was surprisingly empty of emotions, closing her eyes and praying to the Valar in broken phrases in her head.  
Impact with the ground came far swifter than she had expected, and… she didn’t die.   
Or at least she didn’t think she had died.  
When she dared slit her eyes, she found herself staring at the underside of a large, auburn dragon. It twisted its great head to look at her with piercing, crystalline eyes.  
The dragon was missing a leg, Alinor realized, being clutched in its healthy claw, but she couldn’t ponder the new dragon further, feeling her head loll, features going slack, and allowed herself to slip into blackness.


	28. Kin ~ Chapter 27

Thranduil practically half-fell, half-slid down the steep side of the ravine that he had seen Khelekmin’s body plummet into from the sky, the SnowDrake crashing down several trees and rocky shelves, slowing his fall.  
His haste was foolish, for he fell ungracefully several times, gaining several scrapes and abrasions that were not caused by a sword, but the King’s worry for his younger brother drove him forward, oblivious of the pain.  
Thranduil landed heavily on a boulder, still several yards from the bottom of the ravine, but he took a moment to stare out at the crumpled body of the fallen dragon with concerned blue eyes.  
Khelekmin was most assuredly lifeless even though Thranduil couldn’t see the dragon’s head… but he was somewhat glad that he couldn’t.  
Murmuring a prayer to the Valar, he finished his scramble down the ravine and sprinted to the dragon’s side, slowing cautiously when he had to step past the SnowDrake’s wing.  
“Aldaraen!” he yelled, already, in his gut, knowing there would be no response, even though he hoped against hopes that there would.   
With an angry and emboldened kick, Thranduil tested to see if the dragon would move.   
When there was no response from the massive reptile, Thranduil clambered up Khelekmin’s wing, his face burning and blood roaring in his ears from trepidation and fear at what he would see.  
When he finally crested the dragon’s wing, Thranduil made a strange noise to himself, covering his mouth for a moment, when he saw his brother’s bloodied, broken body cradled protectively against the SnowDrake’s chest.   
“Aldaraen,” he spoke his brother’s name far more softly than he had intended, and slid down the slope of the bent wing until he could fall on his knees at his brother’s side.  
With a shaking hand, feeling as though he were reliving the past of first finding his adolescent brother tortured by the Necromancer’s followers, Thranduil gently held his brother’s cheek and turned his face to him.  
He was more than surprised when the bloody Elf’s sapphire eyes opened weakly to look at him incoherently. His pupils were very large, but Thranduil watched in silence, feeling himself on the verge of tears, as his vision adjusted to the grey light of the cold, cloudy sky.  
“Hello, Thran’. Come to beat me for being a bloody idiot, haven’t you?” he choked out, and a steady trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth immediately.  
“Don’t talk,” Thranduil commanded him, but his quiet voice was shaking, weak. He remembered holding Wharyn in his arms that horrific night in Mirkwood, how she had died with a smile on her bloodied, yet beautiful face.   
He knew, now, in his heart, that his little brother was dying, and he forced himself to remain calm, knowing Aldaraen needed it, at this critical time. He hated himself as he felt hot tears begin trailing down his dirty cheeks, and wiped at them violently with the back of his arm. He almost felt like an Elfling again.  
The Valar were cruel, he knew it then, in his very being.   
“You’ll be alright, Thran’. You have Legolas to look after you, and he loves you very much,” Aldaraen said, his voice tight, constrained from pain, and Thranduil could only nod, feeling his heart die a little, seeing his brother in such agony, unable to help. One of his legs was twisted oddly and Thranduil was scared to touch it, much less look at it.  
“Don’t be sad, my brother. I have known that I was going to pass from this earth,” Aldaraen spoke again, and Thranduil began to shake his head dumbly, disagreeing in his mind.  
Why was his brother the one comforting him?   
Why would the Valar steal his wife, his brother, his unborn daughter, countless others--?  
“Stop thinking yourself into a dark and inescapable spiral,” Aldaraen said, and Thranduil swallowed past the lump in his throat, staring down at his younger brother in anguish, as he continued brokenly, “Only a few sunrises ago did I realize the blessings in my life, Thranduil. I was fulfilled by making peace with the monster I had created in my head.”  
“It wasn’t--!” Thranduil began, his hands shaking, feeling as though every word that slid slowly past his brother’s blue lips would be his last, but when Aldaraen continued talking, he fell quiet, forced to listen.  
“I had always been searching for adventure, Thranduil, but I never stopped to realize that I was already living one, and my own stupidly, active mind kept me from appreciating every moment I spent breathing the air the Valar have perfectly provided for us, has kept me from properly loving those who surrounded me with their own. Since I first laid eyes on Faerlin in the cellar at Mirkwood, it began the greatest adventure of my life. Death does not mean it is the end, my brother, for it is only the beginning for those we touched, who came after us, and who I can only pray were treated with the utmost of my affection and care. Our memory carries us on until the end of time, carried in the hearts and minds of those we loved.”  
Thranduil could only press his lips together and nod jerkily.  
Aldaraen coughed blood before smiling slightly and saying, “I went against your advice, as you know, Thran’. I gave my inheritance to the Dwarves of Erebor so that they might craft a necklace for…for Faerlin. Remember? Give…Give the gems to Alinor, Thranduil. I wish for her to have them.”  
Thranduil nodded again, watching the last of the color drain from his younger brother’s cheeks, feeling as though he could almost physically feel Aldaraen’s life slipping through his fingers.  
“Thran’…” his brother’s hand held his arm weakly for a moment as he whispered, “Watch over my children.”  
“I promise, Aldaraen,” Thranduil answered softly, giving a small smile, and a tear fell from his face to land on his brother’s bloodied and burnt tunic.  
Aldaraen smiled at him gently, then closed his eyes and released a long, soft breath.  
“You had the heart of a dragon all along. I’ll miss you, my brother,” Thranduil whispered, and felt himself on the verge of sobs, but, with a great pain inside, swallowed the emotion and battled back the tears.  
As his magic faded, the scars worked upon him by Khelekmin when he was very young slowly began to emerge, spreading across his pale skin.  
Thranduil sobbed once, clutching his hands into fists, and hung his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his jaw trembling, but he made no further sound.  
Something fragile broken within the King’s heart that hour.  
Something that was never healed.  
~~~  
When Alinor came to, she scrambled upright, then leapt to her feet, even though she swayed from dizziness.   
Once her senses had been restored, she blinked in the light and took in her surroundings. She immediately recognized the top of the Fire-Mountain, albeit, the mouth of the dead volcano was now jaggedly larger, thanks to Gandalf’s missile.  
Turning around, she saw Eardaneth bent over Yaeran’s pale body, holding his elder brother’s hand, eyes closed, lips moving as he whispered a prayer.  
For a moment, Alinor wondered how Eardaneth had reached the summit of the Fire-Mountain, the she remembered the dragon with the missing leg…   
He hadn’t..?   
Alinor felt dizzy again, but forced herself to walk towards Maedhros’ sons on unsteady legs.  
“Captain SeaGaze, the mountain might collapse,” she said weakly, touching his shoulder, but the tall Elf remained motionless, replying quietly,  
“I will be alright, young one. I wish to stay with my brother a while.”  
Alinor stood quietly behind the auburn-haired Elf, turning to look at Gandalf sadly when the young Wizard held her arm gently.  
“You have taken the Necromancer’s body,” he smiled at her, and Alinor couldn’t help returning the expression, seeing the Wizards charred face, unruly blonde hair blown backwards from the explosion and battle.  
“We…defeated the Necromancer…at least… for now,” Alinor corrected him strongly, leaning into his embrace when her friend held her. She felt incredibly numb to the shock of the transpired events, but, for now, she was glad for it, “He is trapped as a ghost.”  
“Come, let him grieve his loss,” Gandalf said quietly, and led Alinor away from Eardaneth’s silent form.  
“What of the battle below?” she asked slowly, still feeling slightly befuddled, and Gandalf sat heavily at the edge of the Fire-Mountain, dangling his legs over a steep cliff, answering,  
“It is in our favor. With the death of their leaders, the soldiers are lost. The Men of Gwemyr arrived to offer their aid. It is...very much in our favor. Your family has many friends.”  
Alinor prepared herself to sit down heavily beside her companion, but when she heard the loud beating of a dragon’s wings, and she looked up in alarm, more than expecting to see Torgin.  
“Elrohir!” she screamed his name far more desperately than she had meant, seeing Menelaudh land heavily on the stony ground, wounded grievously in several places, but her leaf-shaped pedant still glittered a brilliant green against her black scales, “Menelaudh!”  
Elrohir slid down the dragon’s side and landed clumsily, regaining his land-feet, but he recovered quickly just in time to catch his wife as she threw herself into his arms.  
“Elrohir, you’re alright, I was frightened for you,” Alinor, to her great embarrassment, felt herself on the verge on tears, seeing her husband’s wounded and burnt appearance. She felt his face quickly all over, but he only smiled down at her in exhaustion, answering,  
“Finally. At least now I know that to get a little attention around here I have to risk my life in air-combat.”  
“Don’t be an arse, you know I love you,” Alinor hit him half-heartedly in the chest, standing on her tiptoes to receive his relieved kiss.  
“I’m not sure how many Elves’ wives would challenge the Dark Lord,” Gandalf strode up to greet Elrohir, and the tall Elf shrugged sinuously, replying dryly,  
“I know. I landed a real winner, didn’t I.”  
“Indubitably,” Gandalf said.  
Elrohir didn’t release Alinor’s hand when she stepped away from him slightly, and, by his shaking touch alone, she knew that his worry for her own safety had been overwhelming.  
Her husband’s dark hair was plastered to his head by a sticky, shiny substance, and, in confusion, she realized that Elrohir’s entire uniform was dark and moist.   
“What… What happened, melamin?” she asked, and Elrohir gave her a crooked smile, replying,  
“Dragon spit.”  
Alinor’s green eyes were wide, and it made Elrohir laugh, caressing her cheek lovingly with a hand, deciding not to explain right away.  
She looked fatigued.  
Weren’t they all?  
All he wanted to do was sleep.  
“Where’s Ada?”   
The question melted Elrohir’s smile, and Alinor knew immediately, her gaze instantly shining with tears.  
“I’m so sorry, my love,” Elrohir said softly, and pulled his wife against his body lovingly and protectively.  
Instinctively, Elrohir knew that he had to get Alinor off of the Fire-Mountain, at least.   
For the moment, he was content to hold her, however, letting her process the news, feeling only the overwhelming desire to protect and comfort his wife.  
~~~  
“Rima, Ardir!” Aldariil urged his large black horse forward swifter, his anxiety building with every passing minute.  
He had been in the trees of the forest after his wounds and battle with the Orc’s leader, Borug, but, when he had seen Torgin suddenly avert his course towards Gwemyr, Aldariil immediately knew what had happened.  
As if by magic, his pain and dull-mindedness had faded, and, ignoring the cries of the Elf that was caring for him, Aldariil had called Ardir and made his way towards Gwemyr in the greatest haste possible.  
Once on the familiar forest path he had ridden as an Elfling to Gwemyr, Aldariil could not see they sky, and he could only hope that Menelaudh and Khelekmin, along with their riders, could hold the MountainDrake off long enough for him to rescue his Hatchlings.  
~~~  
After the shock of watching his father transform himself into a dragon with the power of the Silmaril had passed, Earathran had found himself back at the front of the battle beside Itryd, the two young Elves watching each other’s back.  
Earathran took a secret pride that he was as tall as the hereditarily tall race of Avari Elves, and he found himself fighting beside the ebony-eyed people with pride.  
The battle had moved surprisingly far up the Fire-Mountain.   
The Elven armies were pushing the remainder of the enemy’s forces against the wall of the Fire-Mountain, but, on their own accord, the corrupted Avari and Orcs had begun to flee inside of a cavern that a river ran out of, being that they had no other route of escape.  
Finally, the last living member of the Necromancer’s army had disappeared in terror into the darkness of the Fire-Mountain’s cavern.   
It was almost comical when the noise of battle ended, and the Elves glanced to their leaders questioningly.  
When a Mirkwood Elf almost immediately began to charge after their fleeing enemies into the cavern, Earathran shouted strongly,  
“Do not follow them therein!”  
“Wise decision,” Menelaudh landed expertly in the river beside the armies, sending water in all directions and drawing many groans and cries from the frightened Elves gathered there, her feminine voice overbearingly loud.  
The FireDrake allowed Elrohir and Alinor to dismount first, letting them clamber down her tail to hop onto dry land.   
Several Elves bowed to their respective royalty, but Elrohir and Alinor, bruised, bloodied, and battered, didn’t seem to notice.  
“Do not worry, Lord Itryd, Earathran,” Menelaudh bobbed her head slowly and gracefully, finishing with gleaming eyes, “I can easily finish your foes within my old home. Besides, do not forget I was named as Guardian of Mirkwood.”  
Alinor smiled after the FireDrake almost proudly, slyly, as Menelaudh slowly entered the Fire-Mountain, although she had no doubt that Menelaudh would have her title revoked after the happenings of the battle.  
She wasn’t sure if anyone, even Menelaudh, would care.  
No sooner had the snaking end of her long, black tail disappeared into the darkness of the cave did the interior of the cavern become visible as the dragon loosed a raging stream of fire, the sound deafening.  
There was a prolonged silence, then, one by one, the Men of Gwemyr began cheering loudly.  
The Elves looked in their direction with wide eyes before breaking into murmurs with one another, barely audible above the harsh cheering of the Men.  
Earathran turned with a smile to Itryd, who was beaming, and the young Avari leader said triumphantly,   
“Finally, at last, my friend, Earathran JayGaze… The Avari might truly… be free.”  
~~~  
By the time Aldariil arrived in Gwemyr, he was shocked to see Torgin’s lifeless corpse taking up the majority of the city’s square. He didn’t take time to inspect the dragon’s body, bringing Ardir to a sliding halt and leaping off of his stallion’s back before he came to a full stop.  
It was the least of his worries.  
A large pile of debris from Torgin’s fall had blocked the door to the shop, so Aldariil hastily broke the glass window with his elbow and climbed inside, grateful for his slender physique.  
He dashed to the closed wooden crate and lifted the lid.  
The Hatchlings were milling about in the hay, wet from the amniotic fluid of the newly hatched baby, their small mouths open and plaintively crying.  
“You’re alright,” Aldariil breathed in relief, and reached into the crate to lift the small newborn carefully, finishing affectionately, “Aren’t you beautiful, small one.”  
A strange coughing sound disrupted his amazement, and Aldariil looked back down into the crate to see one of the young males coughing, each violent movement making his wings spread and shake in a comical manner.  
“Oh, little fellow, are you alri--?” Aldariil began, reaching his hand for the Hatchling, but he yelped in shock and fright, yanking his hand away, when the small dragon coughed extra loudly and spat out a perfect fireball of flames.  
To his horror, Aldariil watched the hay catch fire, and he quickly loaded the squealing Hatchlings into his arms, clutching them to his chest.  
The fire was spreading rapidly, and it caught to a pile of folded linens, then to more crates filled with hay.   
Aldariil screamed a curse when he recognized the bottles of explosive powder Balin and Yaeran had been using, within the flaming crates, and he held the Hatchlings tightly, sprinting back towards the broken window and throwing himself back out through the glass.  
He landed hard on his knees, but continued to struggle forward awkwardly, making it just far enough to be unharmed when the crates of powder exploded in rapid succession.   
The shockwave of the shop exploding into flames knocked Aldariil forward several awkward, long steps, before he fell hard on his side, purposefully, to protect the small dragons he held.  
The frightened voices of several Men and Women began to become audible to him, but Aldariil could only stare up at the sky, his hair on end again, feeling the small dragons sniffing his face curiously, if not worriedly.  
“I… I suppose that… that MountainDrakes get their fire sooner…much sooner than FireDrakes…” he said to himself, and barely shifted his eyes to look blankly up at the man that stood over him, peering down at him worriedly.  
The young Elves skin was nearly sooted black, slicked with sweat, making his sapphire eyes appear all the more brilliant.  
“Are you alright, lad?” the man asked tentatively, even though he could see the person’s delicately pointed ears, and he leaned down, grasping the Elf’s hand to pull him into a sitting position.  
“Amin uma il- sinta,” the young Elf coughed hazily.  
Naturally, the Man was amazed and clueless as to what the Elf had said, but, curious, he prodded at the strange, small creatures clinging to the Elf’s nearly entirely burned off tunic.  
As swift as a snake, making it even more frightening, the young Elf immediately grasped his wrist and threw the Man’s arm away, hissing with a beautifully exotic accent,  
“Do NOT touch my dragons!”   
With that, the Elf rose, whistled musically for a large black horse, and rode away in a cloud of dust.  
~~~


	29. Kin ~ Chapter 28

~ Several days later, Mirkwood…  
“Thranduil…” Eardaneth stepped into the private study quietly. He thought that the young King looked very much like his father, Oropher. He was dressed in black, a stark contrast to his silvery hair.   
Thranduil was standing at a window, staring out at the Elven-hewn ravine that guided the fierce river on its course, sending mist spiraling in the air.  
“Thranduil, I know that you wish to be left alone. I would only bother you with important information, you know this,” Eardaneth said quietly, and felt a tinge of relief when the younger Elf nodded and turned.  
His face was pale, dark rings under his eyes, and it looked as if he had been weeping.  
“I’m so sorry, young one,” Eardaneth began, but Thranduil almost immediately interrupted him, shaking his head and saying,  
“I do not need sympathy, my friend. Words of compassion heal naught, and you have pain of your own to deal with. Let us each go about it in our own time. Now, what did you have to say?”  
Eardaneth wasn’t sure how to receive the King’s words, but he decided to leave the issue and instead held his hand behind his back, saying gently,   
“The bodies of our fallen are to be cremated tomorrow. The populace will be alerted of the ceremony to be given time to pay their proper respects to their fallen family members. I…. I thought that you would like to…perhaps…visit your brother a final time?”  
Thranduil nodded and visibly swallowed before asking hesitantly, “Where are Alinor and Aldariil?”  
“I believe they are visiting the Avari encamped beyond the walls, before they depart. They will see to Garrik… I am supposing,” Eardaneth replied carefully.  
Thranduil had been tolerant of the uncorrupted Avari because of their tedious alliance, but the young King refused to mingle with them, complacent to let the army camp outside their walls until their departure.  
“Alright…” Thranduil responded coolly, “Please be sure that they are…told of tomorrow’s ceremony.”  
Eardaneth nodded and bowed slightly, watching as Thranduil returned silently to the window.  
“Thranduil…I will return after delivering the message, for I have something to discuss with you…” Eardaneth added slowly, but the young King only nodded, waving farewell with his hand, leaving his back turned.  
Eardaneth nodded to himself, then turned and left the King to grieve in solitude.  
~~~  
Alinor followed her taller brother through the Avari camp, stepping around the seated and standing soldiers, laughing and conversing with each other in their strangely different accent.   
A small distance away, she could see their young leader, Itryd, speaking with Earathran, in front of one of the many tents erected outside of Mirkwood.  
The Prince and Princess of Mirkwood approached them silently, and Earathran smiled at his companions, although he didn’t end his conversation.   
Itryd nodded warmly to them, and without exchanging words, Aldariil entered the tent first, Alinor following him quietly.  
The wind rustled the fabric of the tent quietly, and weak sunshine dappled the ground in several places.  
Garrik lay motionlessly on a pile of blankets and fur, his gaunt face relaxed.  
Alinor, upon seeing him, felt a lump building in her throat, embarrassed when she hoped that the young Avari would not awaken.  
“How long do you think he will be unconscious?” Aldariil asked softly, crossing his arms across his chest almost nervously, and Alinor shrugged, answering,  
“I know not, DragonKin. I was unconscious for several days after my brief experience with…with the Dark Lord. I can only imagine Garrik’s pain and inner wounds.”  
She prayed silently to the Valar that his heart would heal in its brokenness.  
“I will miss him,” Aldariil’s eyes, to Alinor’s surprise and sadness, were filled with tears, so she wrapped an arm about his waist to hug her younger brother tightly, saying,  
“It is for the better, Aldariil. He would not thrive under those that he harmed in his corruption.”  
“I understand,” Aldariil wiped his eyes in embarrassment, and the siblings stood quietly together, gazing down at the one they had once called brother. Aldariil took a shaking breath, then, and whispered, “I wish it all had never happened, Ali’.”  
“Me too,” Alinor felt tears run down her own cheeks, but she didn’t bother in wiping them away, turning to hug her younger brother fully now, saying, “It’s alright, Aldariil. He did nothing on purpose. He was scared, and we left him.”  
Aldariil nodded, resting his chin on his sister’s head briefly.  
Elrohir had cleansed any remaining darkness and corruption from the Avari with his powers, just as he had Alinor. Although her husband had done it somewhat grudgingly, Alinor still tried making him understand that Garrik… the Garrik that she knew… would never have done any of the horrendous things that Sauron had ordered of him.  
Aldariil pulled away from her, so Alinor stepped to the Avari’s side, biting her lip, and slowly, carefully, reached down to caress Garrik’s cold, bruised cheek. She wondered where the sweet young Elf she had once known so well was in his mind…  
She heard the hissing noise of steel behind her, and, instinctively, after the battle, she whirled around in fear, but it was only Aldariil, drawing a slender sword from his belt.   
It was a newly forged blade, and Alinor was surprised to see their father’s mark inscribed upon it.   
Aldariil reached forward and placed the sword gently on Garrik’s chest, murmuring softly,  
“You are always welcome in our House, Garrik StarGazer, my brother.”  
Alinor smiled at him when Aldariil turned back to her, and she held his sapphire gaze for several long moments, suddenly seeing her father and his weariness there.  
The horrors they had shared and experienced remained unspoken, yet understood, between them, never to be discussed with another.  
“Come, sister,” Aldariil took her hand gently and the Elven siblings left the tent silently.  
~~~  
~ That afternoon…  
Thranduil hadn’t really paid attention to Eardaneth’s words when he had exited his chamber earlier that morning, but the longer the day stretched on, the more the elder Elf’s words made the young King uneasy.  
He felt a strange sense of relief and anxiety when someone knocked at his study door later in the day.   
Eardaneth didn’t particularly leave time for niceties, taking a seat across the table from Thranduil, strewn with maps and books left there before the battle.  
“I… have lived a long life, Thranduil. I wish to begin somewhat anew, finding peace. I believe I pushed my limit with the favor of the Valar when I drew upon the power of Silmaril in such a manner. I will be departing tomorrow, to live a life of aloneness, for a few years… I wish to be alone, to be in touch with myself again, Thran’… I believe I have forgotten what is truly important, through these times of trial and bloodshed. This being said, your son, Legolas, would make a fine Captain of the Guard in my stead. I promise I will visit from time to time…but, as Aldaraen showed me many years ago, I believe it best to find peace and healing, one’s own self, in solitude, dwelling alone,” Eardaneth watched the young King closely, but his icy blue eyes betrayed nothing but a hint of sorrow.  
“I understand, my friend. Long have you served as the King’s advisor and Captain of the Guard,” Thranduil smiled at him then, and, for a moment, he looked like the young Elf Eardaneth recalled watching grow.  
“There is a time when the aged must step down and let the young gain experience in their place,” Eardaneth returned the grin, then made a gesture with his shortened arm and added, “You would think I’d have learned when my arm was lost.”  
“Eardaneth never gives up.”  
There were a few moments of silence before Eardaneth stood and said slowly, “It is odd to think… After you, there is Legolas. After Aldaraen, there are his children. After myself, there is Earathran. After Galadriel, Elrond…there are Elrohir, Elladan, Haldir… Life goes on, Thranduil.”  
“Life goes on,” Thranduil repeated slowly, quietly, then stood, as well, and embraced his old weapon’s instructor, his Captain, his advisor, his father’s closest friend, his friend, and finished, “Farewell, SeaGaze. You will be missed until you return to us.”  
“You will be ever in my mind, young one,” Eardaneth replied gently, “I feel your part is not yet completed.”  
“There is too much to avenge,” Thranduil agreed, and Eardaneth felt a strange chill from the words, but he dared not disagree or reprimand.  
“I wish peace to you and the young ones that follow,” Eardaneth said softly, bowing, then re-clasped his cloak about his shoulders and departed the room.  
~~~  
Before his father spoke any words, Earathran knew what Eardaneth had come to say, and he had already accepted the ill news… he told himself to, anyway.  
“You’ve come to say goodbye, haven’t you,” Earathran stated, more than asking.  
“You have your mother’s intuition,” Eardaneth smiled gently before finishing, “I will depart tomorrow after the ceremony.”  
“Ah,” Earathran said hesitantly. When the silence continued long enough to make it uncomfortable, he finished softly, “You will always have a place to call home with Endel and I, Ada. I will depart with the Avari to dwell in Enedwaith with Endel’s People. Come…Come find us, Ada.”  
“You are leaving?”   
Eardaneth recognized Athey’s voice without having to turn around, but he glanced over his shoulder anyway, calling as the young Elf trotted towards them,  
“For a while, Dragon-Rider!”  
“Was a Dragon-Rider. My parents will hear nothing more of it, to say the least,” Athey smirked sheepishly, “Not that I will have a dragon to ride, anyway.”  
“Both of your arms are in bandages, you’re covered in bruises… I can somewhat see their point,” Eardaneth smiled at him, “As I was telling my son, I will visit your People in Enedwaith from time to time. Do not fear, Athey.”  
“I don’t fear. I just like you too much as a friend to feel happy in seeing you leave,” Athey said, and Eardaneth felt slightly confused, but accepted the young Elf’s embrace as it was.  
“I loathe farewells. Nobody knows how to properly say goodbye. Take care, Earathran,” Eardaneth turned back to his son and gathered him surprisingly tightly in his arms, “Amin mela lle.”  
“I love you too, Ada,” Earathran responded swiftly, prolonging the embrace before backing away and wiping roughly at his nose.  
Eardaneth felt a strong tremor of affection in his heart but covered his vulnerable embarrassment by saying quickly, “You and your wife will be wonderful parents, my son. May the Valar bless Endel’s birthing. I will be at Yaeran’s side until tomorrow.”  
“Travel safely, Ada,” Earathran answered softly, smiling and nodding his head in conclusion, “Namaarie.”  
Eardaneth touched his hand to his chest and extended it to him before turning towards the Palace, walking slowly through the Avari’s camp. He looked back a final time to smile at his son, who watched his departure with round, sapphire eyes.  
~~~  
“We will depart after the ceremony tomorrow, King Thranduil,” Saruman said evenly to the straight-faced Elf.  
For some reason, he felt as though Thranduil still regarded the Wizards somewhat as fools.   
“Your aid and council during such a trying time within our Kingdom was much appreciated, my Istari friends,” Thranduil stood from his throne to approach the three companions, stopping before the Wizards to finish, “I am pleased that you came to no harm.”  
Saruman and Gandalf both nodded, unsure of what to say, and they looked to Radagast in surprise when the young Wizard spoke swiftly, saying,  
“Lord Thranduil, if… if it is alright with you, I would like to remain in the Woodland Realm, to watch over the creatures that live herein, and to help keep an eye on the lingering witchcraft that yet creeps through the roots in the ground. I have fallen in love with your Kingdom and its beauty…and I do not desire to leave just yet.”  
Saruman sighed, rolling his eyes briefly, and Gandalf coughed.  
Unexpectedly, Thranduil smiled and shrugged sinuously, responding lightly, “I suppose that in all of the forest there is room for a small Wizard.”  
“Oh…thank you,” Radagast said, somewhat breathily, bowing several times awkwardly in gratitude until Saruman patted his back rapidly.  
“Travel safely, Istari,” Thranduil nodded to the Wizards and bowed gracefully from the hips.  
Gandalf was happy to leave it at that, knowing that Thranduil really had no time for ceremonious farewells, and he followed Saruman down the steps leading to the King’s throne.  
Radagast was humming absently behind them, but Gandalf really didn’t share the young Wizard’s light-heartedness, fingering the ring that Cirdan had given him in his pocket.  
He was upset at Saruman’s distancing himself. He was his friend, one of his best ones, at that, and it hurt that the White Wizard was choosing to take an action that had been out of his hands so personally.  
Perhaps things would sort themselves out.   
With a heavy sigh, Gandalf hurried swifter down the steps after Saruman.  
~~~  
The Avari were mounted and prepared to ride, speaking quietly amongst themselves as they waited for Itryd to begin their journey home to Enedwaith.  
“In a way, I feel guilty for not staying for the ceremonies, but I have paid my respects to my uncle Yaeran,” Earathran mounted his steed, looking at Itryd, slightly troubled, but the quiet Avari shook his head and answered,  
“It is for the best, my friend. I can feel the King’s anger without even his words. I believe it wise for the Avari to depart before the ceremonies of tomorrow’s cremations.”  
“Oh, I understand, Itryd. Do not worry,” Earathran said softly.  
He experienced a pain in his heart nonetheless, feeling as though he were leaving his father in a vulnerable time, but he knew the wisdom of Itryd’s decision.  
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the wagon that was carrying Garrik’s body, Athey astride the horse tethered to it.  
It was going to be a long journey to Enedwaith, but one way or another, they would start their lives anew, and it was going to be a good thing.  
Itryd whistled shrilly and spurred his mount forward.  
With several clucking sounds to encourage their own steeds, the Avari host moved forward, making their way west on their return to Enedwaith.  
Earathran felt right, inside his heart, then, and he could not wait to see his wife and raise their unborn child.  
~~~  
Menelaudh crouched very still on the ground, her wings resting, spread, on the leafy forest floor, as Aldariil rubbed at several tears in the leathery skin with a cloth. She shivered occasionally.   
“Do they still pain you as terribly?” he asked quietly, but the young dragon shook her head, replying,  
“No. They are healing quickly.”  
“That is good,” Aldariil slid off of her wing and walked around Menelaudh’s side to lay his hand over a gash in her scales near her chest, murmuring healing words.  
The FireDrake relaxed and radiated a very deep purring noise that made Aldariil smile, rumbling in his chest.  
After his routine was complete, the young Elf sat against the dragon’s warm side and gathered the Hatchlings into his lap, saying,  
“You know, Menelaudh…Khelekmin really cared about you. I could tell by his gaze alone. He was proud of you.”  
“Yes, I know that,” Menelaudh tilted her head thoughtfully, as if thinking very hard on something, then finished, “At least…in the end of things, I was able to know my sire for what he was without dark influence.”  
“Are you…Are you sad at all?” Aldariil asked gently, but Menelaudh shrugged her shoulders in a surprisingly human manner, replying,  
“A small bit, DragonKin, but I did not know him that well before the end. Perhaps it is for the best.”  
The young dragon continued to surprise him with her maturity.  
“There you two are,” a voice called, and Aldariil looked up with a smile as Lynndor approached them.  
“I have not seen you since the battle. I was worried for you,” he grinned at the She-Elf as she patted Menelaudh’s nose, then turned to him, “Where were you?”  
“Fighting, of course. At the end of the battle, I had lost Bishuk, so Burz and I were searching for him. Both pups are alright,” Lynndor answered, taking a Hatchling into her arms, and Aldariil grinned at how the She-Elf referred to the two black Wargs as “pups”.  
“What will you do now, Beast-Friend?” Aldariil asked her, inviting her to sit next to him at Menelaudh’s side, and the FireDrake swished her tail about them like a strange barrier.  
“King Thranduil has offered me to take the Lady Faerlin’s place as Chief of Rangers,” Lynndor said, and Aldariil beamed at her happily, exclaiming,  
“Really? Congratulations, Lynndor! There is no finer She-Elf to replace…to replace my mother.”  
He trailed away near the end of his sentence, and Lynndor looked at him affectionately, pulling the young Elf against her in a motherly way, saying softly,   
“Do not think of me replacing your mother, Elfling. She did a fine job in raising such wonderful young Elves as yourself and your sister, and I can only hope to honor her position in the Rangers.”  
Aldariil was silent a very long time, resting his head on the She-Elf’s shoulder and listening to the wind rustle the leaves above them quietly.   
He looked up at Lynndor presently and asked quietly, “Do you…Do you think that Mama would be proud of Ali’ and I…?”  
“Of course, she would’ve wanted you to stand and battle for what is right and good,” Lynndor kissed the young Elf’s forehead and stood to leave, finishing warmly, “She would’ve been proud of you, young one. Very, very proud.”  
~~~


	30. Kin ~ Chapter 29

~ The next day…  
“Their golden leaves will fade and fall through branching years, though sweet the song, yet sweeter still shall be the tears,” Thranduil stood stoically before the gathered Elves of Mirkwood, Lorien, and Rivendell, reciting the proper words of the cremation ceremonies. His face was forcedly calm, but his voice held a slight tremor, “The night must come, the shadows grow, the dark descend. All we love and all we know must reach an end.”  
The King turned and faced the small and simple, yet intricate piers that the bodies of their fallen had been individually placed upon, wreathed in blooms and sprigs. His gaze was glued to the pale and lifeless body of his younger brother before him, and he felt a tear run down his cheek as the Elves assigned to each pier touched a torch to the fallens’ feet, but he remained unmoved, hoping no one would notice his grief.  
Raebidus had been given a traditional burial by his companions and the Istari, Saruman having delivered the farewell address whilst the Man was lowered into the ground. Raebidus wouldn’t have wanted an Elven ceremonial burial, Alinor and Aldariil had been quite sure, so they were pleased to attend the more intimate farewell to their close friend.  
The Wizards stood beside Alinor, Legolas, and Aldariil now, offering what companionable comfort they might as the Elves’ father was sent to the Valar.  
As the flames began to engulf Aldaraen’s body, Thranduil’s voice grew tighter, and a hint of agony and bitterness entered his tone as he finished, “Out of death, life. Out of night, day, glory from sorrow. Out of grief, joy. Out of storm, comes strength for tomorrow. Out of dust, gold. Out of fire, air, comfort forsaken. Out of rage, calm. Out of loss, find glory awaken.”  
Aldariil turned his face away, staring fixedly at the ground, and Alinor removed herself from her husband’s arm to gather her younger brother in her arms and murmur something gently in his ear.  
“Shine forever, beacon of light. Blaze in the air, vanquishing night. Sing forever, proud and strong. Anthem of life, conquering song,” Thranduil was pushing through the final verses, turning to face the gathered Elves once more, but he was staring ahead and over their heads emptily as he finished, “Though tides of fate onward run, the song of hope, once begun, will evermore remain.”  
~~~  
“Yaeran was the best mentor. I always went to him for guidance,” Alinor said quietly. She had been holding a full glass of wine that had been given to her after the cremation for several minutes now, unable to bring herself to drink it.  
The royal family of Mirkwood, the Istari, Lorien’s representatives, and Elrond’s family had gathered themselves in a private chamber to discuss the proceedings of the following days. Although discussing the work that needed to be done was of high importance, none of the Elves present were truly keen to doing anything but meditate on those they had lost.  
Glorfindel was standing quietly beside Elrond, his arm in a sling. His fall after Sauron’s attack had incapacitated him for the remainder of the battle, but he had recovered swiftly and insisted in offering whatever help he could in the aftermath of the encounter.  
“Raebidus was a fine Man,” Gandalf rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh and Aldariil nodded sadly.   
“I do not wish to remain here,” the young Elf whispered.  
Alinor almost wished that they could all stop speaking of it.  
Words would never properly describe the situation and loss that they had all experienced.  
~~~  
~ Several hours later…  
“I heard what you said, Aldariil,” Alinor ran after her younger brother through the trees towards the glade Menelaudh was occupying, “Are you truly thinking on leaving?”   
Aldariil slowed to a stop, allowing her to catch up to him, and he slumped forward wearily, giving his thin body a curved appearance.  
“I do not wish to be a Prince here, Alinor. The memories here are…not good. Uncle Thranduil is cold. I…wish to be alone,” he said, turning wide sapphire eyes to her, “I don’t want anyone to be aware of my departure...”  
“I know, my brother,” Alinor agreed, but she still felt sad at her brother’s words although she knew she would see him again in the future. She felt slightly desperate as she asked, “Where will you go?”  
“I do not know. I am nearly a grown Elf. I have Menelaudh, too, for she cannot stay here. She is not safe near Mirkwood, nor anywhere else, for that matter. I want to protect the Hatchings. I…I feel led to do this, Ali’,” Aldariil answered, and Alinor gazed up at him with a small smile.  
When he looked at her curiously, blushing slightly, his sister touched his cheek gently, saying,  
“You look so grown, my brother. Once upon a time, you were only a babe.”  
“You used to promise me that we would have many adventures together,” Aldariil smiled down at her, “I do believe that your promise has been fulfilled.”  
“Perhaps more than I intended,” she giggled.  
When they reached Menelaudh, Alinor watched as the FireDrake stood and stretched, almost like a cat, the Hatchlings rolling about between her claws.  
Aldariil approached them and lifted each one, speaking softly to them, before dropping them into small leather satchels prepared beside Menelaudh’s side.  
“You are leaving now, aren’t you,” Alinor said sadly, standing behind her tall brother, and, suddenly, wondering if this is how Thranduil might have felt bidding Aldaraen goodbye so many years ago.   
“Yes,” Aldariil turned to look at her sorrowfully, although he almost seemed relieved at the thought of leaving Mirkwood behind, “I will visit you, my sister, but they—“ he turned and motioned to Menelaudh and the Hatchlings, “—They are my calling, Alinor.”  
“There is none better to care for them,” Alinor smiled tearfully at her brother before throwing herself into his arms, feeling him embrace her tightly, and, presently, Menelaudh’s neck wrapped about them in the best hug the dragon could muster.  
“I will miss you, Small-Sister,” Menelaudh rumbled, “You will ever be in my thoughts and heart.”  
“And you in mine,” Alinor answered, gathering as much of the dragon’s muzzle against her as she could.   
It was still difficult to believe that this magnificent creature had once been the size of a housecat when Alinor had first found and raised her.  
“Find joy in your husband, Ali’. Elrohir loves you very much,” Aldariil smiled at her before clambering onto Menelaudh’s back, and the dragon squinted her icy blue eyes down at the She-Elf, adding,  
“He will fill you with child, and I will return to help in their raising. Stay safe, SkyDancer!”  
“Oh, right,” Alinor laughed dismissively, although she could feel her ears burning in embarrassment. Her heart thrilled at the thought of carrying her husband’s Elfling, however, and she welcomed the happy emotion.  
“I love you, my sister. I will return in the sky to visit you, someday,” Aldariil waved his hand in farewell before being forced to clutch at the fussing Hatchlings as Menelaudh prepared for flight.  
“I love you too, Aldariil!” Alinor barely had the time to shout the words before the beating of Menelaudh’s massive wings drowned her out.  
The She-Elf stood silently and still, staring up into the grey sky as Menelaudh rose high above her head.   
Before the dragon swooped away, however, she loosed a magnificent, deafening roar that sent shivers down Alinor’s spine.   
With that, Menelaudh vanished from sight, flying with Aldariil upon her back to find a new home in lands far from darkness’ embrace.  
~~~  
The day seemed to be filled with tearful farewells.  
Alinor was now standing at the Stable-Gate of Mirkwood, watching as the Lorien Elves mounted their steeds, Haldir preparing for his own journey back home.  
He finished speaking to his brothers, Rumil and Orophin, before turning and trotting towards her, breaking into an encouraging smile.  
“I cannot believe you are leaving again,” Alinor laughed, and embarrassed herself when she began to weep whilst smiling.  
“It has been an overwhelming time,” Haldir hugged her tightly with an understanding chuckle of his own before backing away and wiping her cheeks with his thumbs, “Do not weep, Alinor. There is so much to be joyful for.”  
“I know,” she sniffed.  
“You realize,” Haldir winked at her good-naturedly, “For all that training under Eardaneth, we really did not get to battle together that much.”  
“But when we did, we were as fierce as a dragon,” Alinor retorted, touching his arm lightly, glad for her friend’s happiness.  
“Visit Caras Galadhon and Lothlorien, Ali’,” Haldir blinked at her when Rumil called his name from near the gate, “There is still so much of my world I wish to show you.”  
“I promise,” Alinor replied, and hugged her best friend once more before allowing him to begin backing away towards his brothers, “Ride safely, and say hello to Yaeran’s descendants!”   
“The cats?” Haldir asked with a laugh, “Of course, I will! I will give you a kitten when you visit!”  
Alinor crossed her arms across her stomach and watched with a sad smile as her friend leapt atop his horse and urged it after his brothers, turning in his saddle to wave to her a final time.  
It felt as though, one by one, those dearest to her heart were leaving.  
Alinor wondered if it was just something that happened as one grew…  
When the last of the Lorien steeds had departed through the gate, Alinor was surprised to see two horses standing near the wall, waiting, Saruman and Gandalf smiling at her from atop their backs.  
“Even you, my friends?” Alinor asked sorrowfully as she approached the pair, “What of Radagast?”  
“He will remain in Mirkwood,” Gandalf replied, then slid from his saddle to hug Alinor tightly, “I will see you again, my friend, and you will be missed.”  
“Try not to lose your hat,” Alinor answered, “And practice those fireworks. They’re still rather dangerous.”  
“Perhaps he should practice more on his skill with a bow and arrow,” Saruman smiled thinly at Gandalf, referring to Sauron, they all knew, and the Grey Wizard blushed slightly as Saruman finished to Alinor, “The courage of your heart and the strength of your mind was astounding, young She-Elf. If ever you desire tutoring in lore, I would be more than pleased to teach you.”  
Gandalf looked at him in surprise, and Alinor hesitated, vividly recalling Sauron’s words and feeling a bubble of anxiety welling in her chest.  
It took her a moment to realize that Saruman had meant it nicely and his words had merely been a trigger of ill memories. He wasn’t Sauron, after all. She felt embarrassed.  
“Perhaps I will, sometime,” she grinned at him, brushing aside her negative feelings.  
Gandalf remounted his horse and prepared to leave as Saruman said,   
“Be careful of your Uncle, my dear. He holds much anger within his heart. Call upon us if you need us.”  
Alinor nodded, watching as Saruman spurred his horse towards the bridge across the river.  
“Farewell, Ali’. May we meet again,” Gandalf smiled sadly at her before following his white-clad friend.  
Alinor ran to the foot of the bridge, standing and watching as the Wizards entered the forest, moving west.   
Just as they faded from sight amongst the trees, a brilliant firework dazzled its way into the air, and Alinor smiled, feeling a great loss in her heart as the Wizards vanished into the darkness.  
~~~  
Eardaneth watched as a rare ray or orange light from the sunset broke through the suffocating clouds, dappling the etched dedicatory stone that had been erected in memory of his fallen elder brother and lighting his auburn hair to flame.  
He clicked his tongue and waited for his steed to approach.   
Yaeran the Quiet would never be forgotten, he was quite sure.  
With a final glance at his brother’s stone, Eardaneth spurred his horse silently towards the sunset, narrowing his brilliant sapphire gaze as he embarked on his own journey, hoping to leave the sadness of Mirkwood behind.  
~~~

 

~ That night…  
Elrond watched as his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, left the room, sensing a strong tension as Balin the Dwarf entered Thranduil’s study.  
Glorfindel and Elrond were staying with Thranduil to aid him and offer the young King council in any governing issues that needed addressing so soon after the battle.  
“Balin, your aid and knowledge was critical in our victory against our enemies,” Thranduil bowed slightly before the Dwarf, although there was some form of sourness to the motion, “Have you come to announce your departure?”  
“Yes, my lord,” Balin smiled at the tall Elf, “I have also come to—“  
“When you return to your home in Erebor, please have your King--,” Thranduil almost spat the word as he interrupted, “do me a favor. Return the jewels that he has held for far too long.”  
Balin appeared surprised, but he had a posture of uncertainty.  
“Thranduil, at this time of crisis, you are concerned with wealth?” Elrond looked at the slender Elf in concern, feeling a small tinge of disgust beginning to form within him until the young King turned on him, saying a little to calmly for his liking,  
“Do not speak to me as a father if you do not understand my anger.”  
“A handful of gems—“ Glorfindel began, but Thranduil interrupted him, pointing at Balin and snapping,  
“I am not concerned with wealth, nor the fact that they are jewels! The Dwarves have stolen them and withhold them from me--!”  
“I am sure that they will be returned—“ Elrond began calmly, but was once again interrupted, Thranduil’s voice a desperate yell now,  
“They were my brother’s!”   
Balin remained silent, and Elrond glanced at Glorfindel in sudden understanding.   
He felt slightly guilty when Thranduil’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, never to be shed, however, as he finished shakily,   
“Those gems are the only thing I have left of my brother, and he asked me to give them to his daughter. Do not deny me the right to be upset if they are not returned to me, Master Elrond.”  
Elrond bowed his head understandingly.  
“I will see that your message is delivered to the King by my own tongue,” Balin said quietly, “I thank you for allowing me to stay as a guest within your halls, Lord Thranduil. I will relay your generousness to my King.”  
Thranduil only glared at the Dwarf with reddened eyes before turning away in anger and embarrassment.   
Elrond smiled kindly at Balin before ushering him from the room, Glorfindel stepping towards Thranduil to offer comforting words.  
When the door had been closed, Elrond looked down at the Dwarf and said quietly,  
“I would suggest that your King return Aldaraen’s gems with all haste.”  
“I will do my best. Alinor deserves them. She is a kind lass,” Balin nodded, although he was still obviously quite flustered.  
“I am sorry for Thranduil’s anger. He has lost so much…” Elrond said, but the Dwarf nodded and waved his hand dismissively.  
“I understand entirely. I will speak to King Thror with all due haste,” he said, then held Elrond’s hand briefly in farewell before walking down the hallway quickly.  
Elrond watched the short figure depart before entering the chamber to see Thranduil bent over a chair, sobbing, Glorfindel silently taking his leave.   
“He is broken beyond repair,” the golden-haired warrior whispered to the Master of Imladris, and Elrond gazed at Thranduil sadly before following Glorfindel out of the room, shutting the door softly behind them.  
~~~


	31. Kin ~ Chapter 30

~ Several years later, Enedwaith…  
“Maedhros, my love! Come, let us find Ruvven!” Endel called for her son, walking through their house quietly on bare feet.   
For being so young, Maedhros was tall, just like his father, and he had inherited Earathran’s auburn hair and sapphire eyes. Like his mother, however, his skin was milky white.  
Endel stopped in the doorway of her Elfling’s bedroom, watching her son, who had only recently begun to walk and run without tripping, lean against the windowsill, gazing out at the calm river gurgling by outside their home. He was surprisingly introspective, and sometimes, Endel thought that the Elfling was more like Yaeran than Earathran.  
It was a beautiful place in a glade just outside of the small city the Avari had already begun to construct in Enedwaith, situated on the riverbank beneath willows.  
Maedhros turned and smiled up at his mother, ambling across the floor to her and allowing Endel to lift him and place him on her hip.  
“Do you know where Ruvven is?” she asked, rubbing her nose against her son’s, but Maedhros only giggled, answering,  
“I think he went to the river with Ada.”  
“Thank you,” Endel planted a long and loud kiss on her Elfling’s chubby cheek before walking out into the beautiful sunshine.  
She saw Ruvven before he saw them, the young Elf walking towards the house and looking down into his arms, which were full of apples.  
Ruvven was nearly to her shoulders in height, and Endel could not believe how the time had flown past.  
“What are you doing, brother?” Endel laughed when Ruvven looked up at her as if startled, but the younger Elf recovered quickly, offering Maedhros an apple as he replied,  
“Garrik is harvesting his trees. He tells me stories of how the Prince of Mirkwood taught him farming, long ago, but he wanted me to bring you these apples.”  
“Really, he is telling you stories?” Endel said in surprise, although she smiled gently, and she walked a small distance more until she could see several rowed fruit trees.   
Garrik hardly talked, ever, since he had reawakened from his coma in the growing Avari city.  
Just as Ruvven had said, she spotted Garrik, dressed in a dark green tunic, stretching up to pull at ripe fruit hanging from one of the tree’s branches.  
His pain was ever present in his gentle black eyes, Endel thought, and she began walking carefully down the small slope towards the slender Elf.  
“Garrik,” she smiled at him and he returned the expression, wiping at his forehead, “Garrik, thank you for the apples.”  
“I thought Maedhros would like them,” Garrik waved at the auburn-haired Elfling.  
“How are you doing, my friend?” she asked, and more than expected the classic response,  
“Oh, I’m alright. Taking it one day at a time, but it’ll be okay.”  
“Have you considered Itryd’s proposition?” Endel asked slowly, and she saw Garrik pause as he was turning away from her, his eyes staring forward emptily for a moment.  
When he looked back at her, he almost looked frightened, eyes gleaming as he murmured, “I have told you all, I will never be King of the Avari again.”  
“But you would be a fine King...Garrik, they want you—“   
“I said, no,” Garrik interrupted firmly, “I know it is difficult for you to understand, BrightRaven, but I will never again take such a position. If you do not understand, then at least listen.”  
“Garrik,” Endel held the Elf’s arm gently, drawing his gaze, “There are none more understanding of what happened to you than the Avari.”  
“I cannot,” Garrik whispered sadly, pulling away from her, and Endel nodded once with a small smile, accepting his answer.  
She left the Elf to tend to his fruit trees, returning to their home.   
Earathran was waiting for her, and he took Maedhros happily from his wife, kissing his son’s head lovingly before wrapping his arm about Endel’s waist.  
She leaned into her husband’s embrace happily, listening to the birds calling in the trees above.  
The peace was all around them.  
It was more perfect than she could have ever dreamed.  
~~~  
~ Erebor…  
When Thranduil’s army crested the final slope to give them unhindered view of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, they were less than surprised to see it in the midst of a dragon pillaging.  
A Great dragon.  
There were only a few moments of tense uncertainty of what their action would be.  
He could sharply see the heir to the throne, Thorin, waving his arm to the Elves desperately.  
Thranduil knew, in his heart, that Thorin had naught to do with Aldaraen’s gems being withheld from him…yet. It was his grandfather’s doing.   
Too many of Thranduil’s People had been lost in the battle against Sauron already.  
He would not throw their lives away so pointlessly, at this time. Even if they did aid the double-crossing Dwarves, there was no way of victory…  
Thranduil assessed the situation swiftly.  
There was no victory to be foreseen this day against the dragon.  
Thranduil turned away, leading his People to safety.   
He would return another day to reclaim his brother’s gems.  
Besides, what was a hundred years in the life of an Elf?  
He could wait.  
~~~  
~ Forest near Gwemyr…  
Elrohir could hear Alinor making something for dinner in the kitchen, her sweet voice humming softly. He closed the door to her parent’s old home near Gwemyr and unfastened his cloak, hanging it on the wall, before stepping quietly into the kitchen.  
“What are you making, Melamin?” he stepped behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist, and slid his hands down her full, rounding stomach.  
“Just a little something,” his wife giggled, and leaned against him, turning her head to kiss him fondly.   
The sunset was blazing through the window in front of them and Elrohir gazed past the framing at the trees and small stream running into the clearing, nuzzling slightly into his wife’s soft golden hair.  
“I cannot wait for their arrival,” he breathed, turning Alinor around to kneel before her, kissing her growing belly gently.  
“I just hope that our twins are more obedient than you and your brother,” Alinor laughed, stroking her hands down her pregnant stomach, “I’m not sure I will have the patience for two mini Elrohir-s.”  
“You will be a wonderful mother, do not be foolish,” Elrohir stood and kissed his wife’s nose, smiling as she murmured in response,  
“And you a wonderful father…Now hang your sword, my love. It is nearly time to eat. I thought we could sup beside the stream.”  
Elrohir smiled down at her, amazed at her beauty once again, even though he saw her every day.  
He retreated into the hallway and untied his sword belt, preparing to hang his blade upon the wall.  
He paused when he saw Alinor’s sword already in its place, or rather her mother’s sword, unused since her battle with Sauron, and Elrohir paused to gaze upon it and its inscriptions, reliving many memories…  
He shook his head briefly and hung his blade alongside his wife’s before turning towards the door. He followed Alinor from their home, stepping out into the soft grass and warm sunset, and took her hand as she led him towards the stream.  
~~~  
~ Somewhere far north…  
Aldariil stood, poised, at the very edge of a cliff, seeing nothing but clouds far below him. He threw his head back and howled, the pure sound echoing through the mountains and valley.  
An instantaneous roar of reply answered him, and Aldariil cast himself lightly from the cliff, falling through the cold air.   
He was more than prepared, landing lightly upon his feet when Menelaudh’s swooped beneath him and flapped mightily, climbing back into the sky. She smiled at Aldariil’s laughter, relishing in their freedom.  
The FireDrake had grown, nearly doubled in size.  
She passed through a wall of clouds, rising into the brilliant orange and pink hues of an evening sky.  
Far below them, several younger, reptilian roars were calling to them, Aldariil knew, beginning to learn what the several tones of dragons’ inflections were supposed to translate to mean.  
One by one, four, much smaller dragons flapped and spun free from the clouds below, their expressions joyful.   
MountainDrakes seemed to accomplish everything faster than Menelaudh, a FireDrake, had done; Flying, fire breathing, speaking…the list went on.  
But it had been great fun.  
When one of the small males evened out beside Menelaudh, he reached his cold muzzle forward to push playfully at Aldariil’s back, and the Elf shoved back teasingly, shouting in surprise when Menelaudh twisted away violently to dive.  
Aldariil looked over his shoulder, watching the learning, young dragons curve after her, their ruddy scales glittering orange as they followed the ebony FireDrake into the sunset.  
After a moment, Aldariil sat forward again, narrowing his sapphire eyes against the wind, but he couldn’t help a grin, feeling a rush of freedom course through him with each of Menelaudh’s strong flaps.   
He felt as one with the dragons, and he didn’t think that he had ever been, or could ever be, happier.  
Life in Middle-Earth, for a while, was peaceful.  
That is, until the next Adventure…  
~~~

 

The End of Part III  
{~Kin~}  
Strangers and Heirs

 

~  
The End of   
Strangers and Heirs  
~


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